Tales of Tortall
by Spinner Dolphin
Summary: ."I will place a curse on you, Jack Harkness: you will stay in Tortall for five hundred years, forbidden to wander the stars." So Shakith cursed him, and so in Tortall he remains. These are the stories of what happened after. Post The Spaces Between.
1. Where We Start From

Hello everyone, and welcome to Tales of Tortall! This will be a series of loosely connected one-shots, some in order, some not. Some of them are just drabbles, half-formed ideas—little things that happened in Tortall before, during or after Spaces and Guardian. Some have plots, some don't. The order is mostly arbitrary and not chronological at all. We start at the end, of course, although you will get a few beginning stories after – just so you know why the phoenix is important, what the Academy is, and all that. After that, though, this is going to be bouncing around quite a lot!

Updates are going to be extremely erratic, as this isn't a cohesive story and chapters only happen when I get a new idea. Don't worry, though – in the beginning there are a lot pre-written, so the first few will be regular. Enjoy!

OVERARCHING DISCLAIMER: I own the Cadets and the Academy, and Red and Anwen, and the Guardian of the Gates, and some books and some DVDs and a whole lot of plot bunnies. What I don't own is Tortall, the characters that live there, or Torchwood, or anyone who used to work there. Anyone from the Whoniverse belongs to the BBC, and Tortall and everyone who lives there belongs to Tamora Pierce. I don't even own the logo I found on Google and use as reference for the rising phoenix. I have no idea how to build an aircraft, and my physics is absolute crap; all info about airplanes comes from Google, and all physics comes from Wikipedia. More will be added _ad hoc_ to the disclaimer as I add chapters: other small disclaimers about random things that I forgot will appear at the beginning of a chapter which is not covered here.

And now, I give you...

**Tales of Tortall**

* * *

_"Being here, I've seen things I never dreamt I'd see, loved people I never would have known  
if I'd stayed where I was. And I wouldn't change that for the world._"

-Jack Harkness, _To the Last Man_

* * *

**Where We Start From**

_-I'm coming with you.—_

Jack took a deep, pained breath. "Kitten—" he began.

_-No, I don't care.—_The dragon reared up onto her hind legs and leaned down to stare Jack in the eye. _–I'm coming with you.—_

Five hundred years came and went so fast, Jack thought mournfully. He was standing beside the ship he'd built with Ianto, the ship that he hated, because it was the ship that would take him away from Tortall forever, by Shakith's decree. He could not stay any longer. Jack cupped the dragon's face in one hand. "Kit. You have family here, you can't just leave them."

_-I can and I will. I won't leave you alone!— _The dragon's mind voice was passionate, and now her claws came to rest on Jack's shoulders. _–Ianto has Rikash. He'll never be alone. But Jack, you're always alone. I'm coming with you.—_

Jack felt as though his heart was breaking. He looked over Kit's shoulder helplessly to Ianto, who stood beside Rikash, and then behind Ianto, to the King of Tortall, descendant from Jonathan the Fourth, his queen, his nobles, each a friend or a descendant of a friend. He looked at the ranks and ranks of the Air Force behind them, standing to attention to watch their Captain leave at long last. Jack looked back at Kit. "It's too dangerous. You have to stay here—you're afraid of aliens."

_-You're an alien,- _came the stubborn response. _–I want to see the universe.—_

"No. No, that's final, Kit," Jack told her, pushing the claws off his shoulders so Kit thumped to the ground. "You have to stay. Who knows what would happen if you left? Ianto and Rikash would crumble to dust; you may lose your life. Immortals and magic don't _exist_ out there. You really can't come!"

_-I won't lose my life.—_Kitten told him calmly. _–Just my magic. I can live with that.—_

"And then what?" Jack demanded furiously. "So some—some slaver can catch us, so some damn thrill seeker can cage you so you sit in a zoo somewhere? I don't think so, Kit. It's not a nice place out there. You're staying."

_-I'm coming,— _she said stubbornly. _–You can't stop me.—_

"I can and I will!" Jack cried, but the dragon just looked at him out of her jewel colored eyes. He couldn't cry, Jack told himself. No. Now was not the time. He'd been crying on and off for the past week now, and it was completely ridiculous.

Tortall was more home than any place had ever been, the most stable place Jack had _ever_ lived in. He had a family here—stable, reliable and best of all they kept on living. Jack was free to love without fear, because Kit and Ianto and Rikash would never die, even if the others would. Even as the generations turned and turned in Tortall, those three stood by him, and somehow that made it all worth it.

But, it seemed, Jack would leave, one day. There was never enough _time. _

"You'll die, Kit," Jack whispered. "If you come, you'll die. I can't keep you safe out there, and if you died, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. Please. Stay behind, take care of Ianto. I can't see you die, not when I know you'll live forever, otherwise."

_-And who will take care of you?— _the dragon replied, and Jack knelt to hug her.

"I'll remember you," he whispered, and he felt the dragon tremble. "And that memory will sustain me. But you have to live, otherwise—otherwise it's just not worth it anymore. I love you, okay? I can't lose you." He hugged her tighter.

_-But I promised you'd never be alone again,- _she sniffled. _–We all promised.—_

"And you honored it," Jack said, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against the warm scales. "You hear? You honored it, Skysong, granddaughter of Diamondflame. I'll always know that, somewhere, my family is alive, for the rest of time. I'll never be alone again."

The dragon keened quietly beside him. _–I love you,- _she sobbed.

"I love you too," Jack whispered again, and released her. He stood, looked at his ship, and then looked back at Kit and then Ianto and Rikash.

The Stormwing was biting his lip, sidling anxiously from foot to foot, not meeting Jack's eye. He had been a good brother, Jack thought miserably. Rikash had stood by them through hell and back. Through countless wars, through death and fire and even a few times through prison, Rikash had always supported them. He'd rescued them, been rescued by them, and if the medallion of the rising phoenix that the Stormwing wore around his neck was any indication, he'd loved them.

There were almost too many memories to count, and Jack had already said his goodbyes to Rikash. The Stormwing had been close to tears, and that was not something that happened often, if ever.

Jack slid his eyes to Ianto.

His—lover, husband, mate, the labels were inconsequential—was standing strong, as always. Kit was the last of the goodbyes; Jack had said his speeches and hugged his friends, shared a scorching kiss with Ianto in front of the crowd, shed a few tears. It was time to go, but he could not take his eyes off of Ianto. Those blue eyes were heartbroken but dry. Like Jack, Ianto had already cried. They'd both had five hundred years to prepare, after all.

But five hundred years wasn't enough, Jack wanted to shout. It was never enough. He'd warned Ianto once, but even he hadn't meant it at the time. It seemed like forever, but really it wasn't. Besides, he'd thought Ianto could have come with him. There had been that fiasco with Numair, so, so long ago, and both Ianto and Rikash had been alright.

But that had only been because Rikash was still in Tortall, Shakith had said, his blind old eyes watching Jack dispassionately as he'd announced the deadline. Ianto Jones was dead, and he could only be alive if he remained in Tortall. He could spend moments outside, if Rikash remained on the planet, but he could not spend long. Should he leave and follow Jack, his headaches would build until he would develop a disease of the brain, and slowly die before Jack's eyes.

That was not something that was acceptable. Ianto offered him a heartbroken smile, and Jack wanted to cry again. He touched Kitten's head and strode up to Ianto again, unwilling to leave.

"I'll change," he whispered, reaching to put a hand over Ianto's heart, just to feel it again. "I don't think I can do this."

"You can," Ianto told him softly and kissed his cheek. "Be strong, Jack. You can."

Jack shook his head. Ianto kissed him again, long and sweet. "You can," he repeated, and there were tears in his eyes. "Go, Jack. I love you."

"I love you too," Jack choked. He froze, unable to back away.

"Go," Rikash whispered, although his voice was heavy with misery. "Go, lover boy, before I vomit." The attempt at sarcasm fell flat.

"I love you too, you idiot," Jack told him affectionately.

"Yeah," Rikash rasped. "It's—it's been a good five hundred years."

"Take care of Ianto," Jack said, and it was almost a plea.

"I will. That's—that's a promise, Jack," Rikash replied thickly. Jack huffed a little, suppressing a sob and kissed Ianto one last time.

"Go," Ianto told him and Jack turned to walk to his ship.

The swell of applause roared behind him from the gathered crowd, rising and falling like a wave as the door slid shut and Jack turned on the system. The shuttle ran off of Uranium, and it should last him at least the next hundred years—plenty of time to find a new ship, or improve on this one. Eyes misting from tears, he flipped a switch and the ship began to rise. The applause fell silent, and the ship scudded through the clouds and finally out of the atmosphere, leaving Tortall forever.

"I'm leaving now," Jack announced thickly to the general air. He swiped at his eyes again.

GOOD, said the voices of every god in the whole damn pantheon without so much as a goodbye. Jack wanted to sob, but he gritted his teeth and changed the gears on his shuttle, preparing to go to full warp.

"Make sure the Guardian's out of the way. I don't even get a goodbye?" Jack snapped.

_I'll miss you, at least, handsome, _crowed a voice that was unmistakably the Graveyard Hag.

Jack scowled.

"_Good luck, Jack!" _Daine's voice whispered hurriedly after a sound like scuffle. _"I'm not supposed to speak to you, but—good luck, good luck, we love you and goodbye!"_

_Veralidaine! _hissed the clear, scolding voice of her father. Jack spared a tearful smile for his Godborn friend, dead almost four hundred fifty years now.

"Thank you for everything, Daine. And send my love to everyone in the Realms of the Dead, especially Tosh and Owen."

"_Will do!" _came the fading voice, as though she were being cheerfully dragged away.

"All systems go," Jack whispered to himself and pulled the throttle.

"_By the way," _Daine's voice added with a laugh as he pulled the lever. _"Take care of my dragon."_

The ship leaped forward as Jack repeated in shock, "Take care of your—_SKYSONG!_"

The light of the universe flared around them as the shuttle exited the Gates and then moved to hyperdrive. The stars appeared to bend as they sped out of the pocket universe, and a blue, reptilian face peered out from under the console and grinned at Jack.

_-I said,-_ Kitten told his stunned expression, _-That I was coming with you.—_

And, together, they left Tortall forever.

Perhaps.


	2. Feathers

Well, first one was a bit of a downer, so let's go back in time to something slightly more entertaining… (And, remember, out of order - the stuff about the spell and the cadets and the phoenix and the hangar will be explained later)

* * *

**Feathers  
**

Rikash Moonsword fanned his wings, catching an updraft and grinning as the wind whistled through his feathers.

Oh, but it was wonderful to be _alive_, he thought gleefully, leaning inwards to circle in a heat thermal. All of Tortall and the little people moving like ants beneath him, whispers of dissatisfaction reaching him even at this height.

It was good to be a Stormwing, really. And it was better to be a Stormwing bonded to a human, come back from the dead. You really learned to _appreciate_ things, like the wind in steel feathers, or the whistling noise it made at high speeds. Rikash dove, just for the joy of it, laughing and folding his wings in close before sweeping them outward, turning sharply and spiraling upward again.

Ianto Jones was somewhere beneath him, in the city Corus, and it was warm enough for the native Welshman to be uncomfortable. Even still, Rikash knew that his bond-brother was content, and that was enough.

They were bonded, which was a little odd to get used to, but it wasn't invasive, not really. It wasn't telepathic, or something equally horrible, or even—what was the word—empathic, that was it. Rikash knew when his brother was in trouble, when he was uncomfortable or when he was happy. The reverse was also true; Ianto had come running three weeks ago when it had rained, and Rikash, caught in the storm, had gotten his wings wet. Fearing rust, Ianto had found him, wet and bedraggled, clutching a tree branch.

The ensuing situation had been rather ridiculous. Ianto had plucked out the rusty feathers, much to Rikash's dismay, and the Stormwing had been grounded until they'd grown back. Now, though, the feathers were back, and he was flying again and it was _great_.

"Rikash."

The Stormwing banked in surprise, blinking. "What?" he asked.

The speaking spell glowed a familiar blue, and Rikash raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you learn to do that, pretty boy?"

Ianto huffed into the spell. "Since Master Salmalin taught me. Would you mind if I used a few of your feathers?"

"The rusted ones?" Rikash snorted. "What could you use them for?"

"No," Ianto scoffed. "I mean the flight feathers that fell out before."

"You mean the ones you pulled out," Rikash mocked.

"Because obviously it's my goal to make you miserable," Ianto muttered indignantly, and Rikash laughed.

"Freely given Stormwing feathers have value, you know," he said, after a moment.

"Yes," Ianto replied. "That's why I'm asking you."

Rikash hummed a little, gliding. "What do you want to use them for?"

"I have a matching set," Ianto said after a moment. "It's Jack's idea. The edges of both sides are sharp, and the steel's strong—living steel. I could—make a knife out of them."

Rikash hummed some more, thinking. A man bonded with a Stormwing, with trinkets fletched from freely-given feathers… the idea had a sort of romantic appeal. If there was anything Rikash was ashamed of, it was his bleeding heart, but still—families were highly valued amongst Stormwings, and Rikash had never had a brother before

"It would probably have odd properties, that knife," he said, after a moment. "I wouldn't want you losing it."

Ianto did not reply, and Rikash suspected that the silence on the other end of the spell was indignant.

"You never know," Rikash told the affronted Ianto defensively. "Humans think in years—I'm thinking in centuries."

"I won't lose it," Ianto said firmly, sounding a little placated.

"Yeah," Rikash said after another moment, adopting his brother's odd way of speech. "Alright, Ianto Jones. You can make a knife. Just be careful with it. We won't know its properties. Make a few arrows with the other feathers, too. Stormwing fletched arrows are mage-killers; they could come in handy."

"I can't use a bow," came the wry response.

"Well, learn," Rikash cawed and he could hear Ianto rolling his eyes.

"Right, okay," his brother replied. "Thank you, Rikash," Ianto added, more seriously.

"You're welcome," the Stormwing muttered. "Can I fly in peace, now?"

"Enjoy the thermals," Ianto said, and Rikash felt more than saw the spell dissipate.

"What have I gotten myself into?" the Stormwing asked himself. "Feathered knives. What a terrible idea."

_

* * *

_

_Ka-chunk. _Ianto walked to retrieve his knife from the wall. Bull's eye again.

It was a beautiful knife, really – the blacksmith had done an amazing job. The two feathers it was made of sat back-to-back, leaving the edges and the point sharp. The blacksmith had bent the two quills so they twined together, arching up over the wood of the handle. He'd engraved the stem of both feathers, and on either side he'd added, very delicately, a phoenix's arching wings.

According to Numair and Rikash, it should be a mage killer like Stormwing arrows, unaffected by any spell or curse. Apparently it never missed the bull's eye, either, Ianto thought with a small smile, holding the blade and then throwing it.

_Ka-chunk. _Bull's eye again.

"You know," Jack said easily, walking through the door that connected their rooms, "You're never going to learn how to throw a knife if that thing does it for you."

Ianto shrugged. "George taught me a little with some of his knives, and if I remember correctly it was part of Torchwood's weapons training." He smiled cheekily at Jack, who had been the one to give him training, so long ago.

"Never your strong suit," Jack teased, slipping over to Ianto and tugging on his tunic. "Can I try?"

Ianto shrugged and offered him the knife. Jack took it.

"Nice weight," he said, testing it, and then threw it.

_Chink!_ Ianto blinked. Jack had missed the target entirely; the knife glanced off the edge and went flying, hitting the floor and then skidding under a table.

"That's weird," Jack said. He went to retrieve it. "What was that about the strange properties?" He picked up the knife and motioned Ianto to move away. Ianto stood behind him, and Jack threw it again. This time the handle of the knife hit the wall and it ricocheted again, sliding along the floor to end up at Ianto's feet.

"Guess it only likes you," Jack shrugged. "You know, if this was an alien artifact, I would be starting to get alarmed right now… but since I know where it comes from I'm just a little annoyed." He grinned. "What did I do to piss off Rikash?"

"You breathed," Ianto said dryly, and picked up the knife. He threw it; bull's eye.

"That's just not fair," Jack complained with good nature.

"Did anyone ever say life was fair?" Ianto teased, his voice mild and innocent. "Because I think I sent the memo saying otherwise."

"Do you honestly think anyone at Torchwood read the memos?" Jack asked with mock incredulity.

Ianto sighed, put upon. "So many wasted hours."

"It's silly to have memos when there were five of us," Jack scolded, wrapping a chiding arm around Ianto's shoulders. "It would have been far more affective to yell."

"Hear ye, hear ye," Ianto replied, deadpan, and Jack laughed. He pressed a kiss to Ianto's temple.

"Have I told you lately," he murmured, "How glad I am that you're here?"

Ianto leaned into him. "You might've mentioned it," he replied softly.

"Hmm. Well, I'm telling you again." Jack squeezed him and Ianto closed his eyes with a smile, resting against his shoulder.

"Hey! Lover boy!" The shout came from Ianto's window.

"We're busy, Rikash," Jack snapped.

"Well, obviously," came the dry response. "But I thought you'd like to know about the pages hanging around the site for your hangar."

"The what?" Ianto asked, lifting his head and looking at his window. Rikash was eyeing him from the balcony Numair had installed a few weeks ago.

"Pages. Hangar. Joren of Stone Mountain. Up to no good, I'd expect."

"And it's our business why?" Jack demanded crossly.

Ianto sighed. "Because I've taken an interest in one of the pages," he said reluctantly. Jack looked at him, confused. He'd only recently gotten back from weevil hunting; he was still not quite up-to-date on the workings of the palace.

"You have? For what?"

Ianto shrugged. "That boy's been tormenting her. The girl page, Keladry of Mindelan. She's—very brave. I thought she might like a friend."

Jack softened. "You shouldn't get involved." He stroked a hand through Ianto's hair affectionately. "She needs to do it on her own – you remember what King Jon said to Alanna."

"I'm not involved," Ianto said dryly. "Those boys are standing around my hangar."

Jack cocked his head to one side. "That's a good point, too. This Joren—he's a troublemaker?"

Ianto remembered the Midwinter feast, from which Jack had been absent. Joren had used gossip to make Kel's table send her back to the kitchen. "Yes," Ianto replied.

Jack squeezed his shoulders. "Well then," he said. "I think it is our business. Let's have a look."

Rikash nodded from his perch. "How's the knife?" he asked suddenly. "Can I see it?"

Ianto walked over, pulled it out of the bull's eye, and then offered it to Rikash. The Stormwing inspected it carefully and then nodded his approval.

"Good," he said and then shimmied a little on his perch. "I've got a loose feather on my left wing that itches like none other – pull it out and you can keep it." He offered the wing.

Ianto and Jack shared at look. Ianto shrugged, reached and plucked out the feather. Jack leaned forward anxiously, but Ianto hadn't cut himself. "Any care for what I do with it?" he asked.

"Don't lose it; do what you like," the Stormwing shrugged. "Knives, arrows, whatever."

"I thought you said you were afraid I'd lose it," Ianto told him dryly.

Rikash grinned with his teeth. "Well, now I know you won't. Besides," he added loftily. "We're family, and you haven't got feathers of your own."

"Why Rikash, that's almost thoughtful," Jack mocked.

"Shut up, lover boy," the Stormwing said, ruffling his plumage so he clinked and chinked like an indignant ring of keys. "Just because I value family doesn't mean I'm—_generous_." He wrinkled his nose in disgust and flew off.

Ianto wrinkled his nose at the smell.

"One of these days," he muttered, "I'm going to give that overgrown vulture a bath."

"Can I watch?" Jack asked, and Ianto chuckled.

"It's not going to be pretty," he cautioned.

"You'll be wet. That's always pretty," Jack leered and Ianto rolled his eyes.

"Come on. Let's see what the pages are up to," he said and Jack grinned, tucking an arm around Ianto's waist.

"Alright!"

Ianto left the feather on the table.

Within three weeks, that feather had become two, which soon became four. Like any bird, Rikash occasionally lost feathers naturally, and it seemed as though all of those feathers went to Ianto. He didn't know what to do with them. It was even worse when the Stormwing molted – which apparently happened every ten years, and before he'd died Rikash had evidentially been due. It was starting to become an issue.

Ianto had knives and arrows, a truly bizarre necklace, a couple of random throwing stars, a sword that he didn't know how to use and, to Jack's amusement, a portrait frame. Even Jack started to accumulate various weapons made from the feathers, and that was a feat in and of itself, as it seemed all weapons made from Stormwing feathers only 'liked' one person. Ianto's rooms were decorated with feathers twisted into various shapes, and it was starting to get ridiculous.

"Rikash, really—" Ianto protested when the Stormwing shook off a few feathers so they clanked to the floor of the balcony. "I don't know what to do with them all!"

The Stormwing shrugged. "Save them," he said. "You might need them one day."

Ianto sighed. They made a few pins out of the new ones.

* * *

A hundred and thirty-nine years later, a cadet named Jeremy asked Ianto where he'd gotten the feathers that decorated the wings and body of the TS. All of his aircrafts, from the Mark I to the Mark L, had feathers accenting the wings and the latest model had a metal phoenix dyed a rusty red on the body.

Ianto muttered something about feathers of Stormwings who molted every ten years. Jack, explaining about concepts of lift to a few of the confused cadets, broke off and started to snicker. The boy didn't ask again.


	3. Tortall's Air Force

Eek! Thanks to Jem for the correction! I can see how that kind of typo would be majorly irritating. Ianto says "aeroplanes," not "airplanes." Thanks again - I really appreciate corrections!

Jack, however, I justify as having an American accent, so he would say "Airplanes."

(Tortallans, as they don't live on Earth, don't have any Earthly accent in my head, although they do have an accent--this is why King Jon would stumble, confused with the two different pronunciations of a word he's never heard before. I think I'll have to come up with what Tortallans call aircrafts - they might just call them aircrafts, or flying vessels, or something. Airships? Anyway, I pretend that Ianto, back from the dead, can understand Common with the help of the Gods and Rikash--everyone dead speaks the same language--and Jack's got a translator in his wrist strap. One day, I'll write a story to fix that plot hole.)

* * *

**Tortall's Air Force**

Jack's eyebrows reached his hairline. Ianto, beside him, stole a glance and then gave an exasperated sigh. Jack grinned and winked at him.

The object of their wordless discussion was sitting at the head of a long table, a circlet of gold around his head. King Jonathan, quite possibly the most beautiful man that Jack had _ever_ seen, was regarding both of them curiously with his deep blue eyes.

"It is my great honor," Numair, behind them, said formally, "To introduce you to His Majesty, King Jonathan the Fourth. Highness, this is Captain Jack Harkness and Master Ianto Jones, of Wales."

"Whales?" the king asked, perplexed, and rose to shake their hands. Jack, despite his obvious tension, smirked at Ianto's pained look.

"Home to the Welsh, Your Highness," Ianto replied, and only Jack caught the sarcasm. The king smiled warmly and shook the Welshman's hand.

"I see. A pleasure to meet you, Ianto Jones," he said. Ianto inclined his head.

"Likewise, Your Majesty," Ianto replied cordially, face free from all expression; he was just as nervous as Jack was. "It is a great honor."

To Ianto's surprise and Jack's delight, the king snorted. "Come now, Master Jones," he chided, "This isn't court. You come with good recommendations—I hold Daine and Numair in the highest esteem. May we discard the formality?"

"Nice try," Jack interrupted before Ianto could say anything. "It's hopeless, Highness. I've known Ianto for years, and he _still_ calls me sir."

"Three years is not forever, _sir_," Ianto muttered scornfully, and Jack bit back a snicker.

"Captain Jack Harkness," the king acknowledged with a quirk of his very, very attractive lips. "I've been warned about you."

"Really?" Jack flirted, and Ianto resisted the urge to stomp on his foot. "Only good things, I hope."

"_Jack_," Daine admonished, trying to hold back her giggles.

The king, however, was not offended, much to Jack's relief. "George tells me that you have the foulest of minds," he replied with a flash of white teeth.

"Not far off the mark," Ianto muttered, and King Jonathan surprised them with a bark of laughter.

"I take personal offense to that," Jack said easily, but Ianto knew him better than that. The man was exuding charm; he was still nervous.

"Good," the king replied, eyes glittering. He, too, exuded charisma, Ianto thought. This man would be a formidable enemy, if only because he was so likable. Ianto exchanged a glance with Jack. The Captain's eyes went briefly cold and calculating. He'd reached the same conclusion.

"But to business," King Jonathan said, gesturing for them to sit at the table. Daine and Numair sat to the king's right; without a choice, Jack sat to his left, placing himself bodily in front of Ianto, even sitting down. Ianto blinked, surprised at the protective gesture. Still, best to keep up appearances. He sat next to Jack.

"I have been informed that you both come from a society far more advanced than this one," the king began. Ianto and Jack shared another glance.

"It depends on how you define advanced," Jack hedged, and the king looked at him for a long moment.

"What he means, Sire," Daine put in, "is that he's reluctant to share the technologies of his world, because our world is unprepared for them."

"Explain," the king said. Numair nodded.

"I assume George's spies told you about the ship made to travel worlds," the mage said quietly. Ianto glanced curiously at Jack, but the other man had paled unhappily, sitting ridged. Not particularly caring about the social rules of the time, Ianto took his hand. Jack shot him a grateful look, although his eyes were filled with guilt.

"I couldn't save them," he muttered, more to Ianto than the king.

"They were destroyed," King Jonathan supplied.

"Your gods killed them," Jack growled. "They were alien, and such things apparently strengthen the hold of Chaos, here. So you'll forgive my reluctance, Highness, but I'd rather you and your people not be smote."

The king shook his head and said, "No, I would rather not have that, as well. I see the dilemma." He hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "What have the gods of your world to say?" he asked quietly.

Jack shook his head. "There are no gods." He quirked a humorless smile. "Or, if there are, they're much less—involved—than yours."

"I see," King Jonathan murmured to himself. "But I understand your reluctance and I see your anxiousness; relax. I'm not going to demand anything of you."

Jack blinked, surprised. "What, so that's it? You're turning your back on technology; you're just going to take my word?"

The king regarded him seriously. "Yours, my Champion's, one of my closest friend's, and my two best mages, yes."

"I don't believe that," Ianto said quietly.

King Jonathan raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"

"Where we're from, people are punished for keeping secrets from the government," Ianto told him darkly.

"Tortured," Jack agreed grimly. Ianto shot him a concerned look, and Jack gave him a sickly smile. "Torchwood, eighteen sixty nine. It wasn't pretty." Ianto gripped his hand harder.

"You won't be tortured here," King Jonathan said derisively. "And that's a promise."

Jack gave him a skeptical look. "You're not going to demand information, and you're promising us safety. What do you want from us?" he asked.

King Jonathan leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. "I'm not entirely certain. You both have knowledge beyond my or even Numair's wildest dreams, I'm sure." He spared a smile to the mage, who looked embarrassed. "There will be a place for you here; I'm sure of that, as well. What are you Captain of, Jack Harkness?"

Jack blinked at the non-sequitur. "Lots of things," he said evasively. "Nothing, really, not anymore."

Ianto glanced at him, but said nothing.

"You were Captain of Torchwood," Daine reminded him gently, and both Jack and Ianto winced.

"Torchwood is not necessary here," Ianto told her quietly. "You have a Guardian for that."

"What was Torchwood?" the king asked curiously.

"Outside the government, beyond the police," Jack recited after a hesitation. "We scavenged alien artifacts and monitored a rift in time and space that ran through Cardiff, a city in Wales. You don't have a rift and the Guardian keeps out aliens. Torchwood would be rather redundant."

"I see," the king muttered.

"You told me your ship ran aground, when we first met," Numair said to Jack thoughtfully after a moment.

"I used to have a spaceship," Jack said slowly, reluctantly. Ianto shot him a startled glance. "I captained several, really. I was a Lieutenant in the Time Agency, and a Captain of the RAF, once upon a time."

"A space ship? Really?" Numair asked eagerly. "Like the—the one we saw?"

"What was the Time Agency?" King Jonathan interrupted before Numair could pull Jack off topic.

"We monitored timelines," Jack replied evenly, warily. "Made sure history happened as it was supposed to."

"_Timelines_?" murmured the king. "You could—travel through time. Travel back in time?"

Jack nodded slowly. "But it's closely monitored," he said, which was mostly a lie. "If I did anything here with time travel, I'd get noticed by the wrong sort of people. And trust me, we don't want to involve them." That part was true.

The king hummed thoughtfully.

"And what kind of ship did you have?" he asked, changing the subject and inclining his head to Numair, who was nearly bouncing in his seat from the effort of containing his excitement. "Was it like the one we had here?"

"Nah, the last one I had was more compact. I stole it, actually," Jack added, reminiscing. "It was a Chula ship. A one-man sort of thing. I suppose you could draw an analogy to a—a racehorse, or something."

"Chula?" King Jonathan asked. Jack shrugged.

"Planet Chukutta, main continent," he said. "I stole it from a woman named—oh, what was her name—T'Rellha, I think, so long ago. She was beautiful." He glanced at Ianto. "It was destroyed in an explosion. Long story short, a bomb went off, and I ended up traveling with the Doctor."

"The Doctor you told us about? Rose's Doctor?" Daine asked.

"Yeah. Never mind." Jack shifted uncomfortably. "I don't see how this is relevant."

"A bomb that caused an explosion big enough to destroy a ship made for the air," King Jonathan said slowly. "That sounds awfully relevant to me."

Jack and Ianto shared an alarmed look. "I flunked chemistry," Ianto said to no one in particular. Jack laughed in surprise.

"I don't get the joke," King Jonathan said, but he offered a smile, as though ready to laugh.

"Neither of us knows how to make a bomb, I'm afraid," Jack said, still chuckling. It was another lie, of course. Anyone worth his salt in the Time Agency could make bombs, but Jack was really starting to like Tortall. Technologies like bombs were nasty business, and this place didn't need that sort of thing. "I would rather not design weapons, if it's all the same to you, Highness. This world is so much—quieter, without them."

The king nodded slowly. "But such a thing would undoubtedly be an advantage," he said. "Especially in the future. I'm afraid there is quite a lot of unrest on our boarders – perhaps some kind of frightening weapon would prevent others from declaring war."

There was a silence. Jack did not mention that a powerful weapon might prevent others from declaring war on Tortall, but would not stop Tortall from declaring war on others.

"Aeroplanes," Ianto said, suddenly, breaking the uneasy silence. They all looked at him.

"What about them?" Jack asked, just as Numair said, "What?"

"They don't have aeroplanes," Ianto elaborated. "You were a Captain of the RAF." He was looking at Jack, and did not explain the acronym to the king. Clever Ianto, Jack thought fondly; he was giving Jack an out. If Jack didn't want to do it, then he could just say no and make up a reason—the king need never know what they were really talking about.

"I stole that title along with my name," Jack said slowly, although he thought about it. Aeroplanes might be interesting, and certainly what King Jon would want. They were still weapons, though. Ianto shrugged.

"But you did the job," he insisted.

"You want me to build them airplanes?" Jack demanded incredulously.

"It's not a bomb," Ianto reminded him. "Good for spying."

Good point, Jack thought.

"What exactly is an aerplane?" King Jonathan asked. He butchered the pronunciation, Ianto noticed - a weird combination of Jack's American "Airplane" and Ianto's Welsh "aeroplane." Nevertheless, he sounded excited.

"A ship made for the air," Jack explained slowly.

"You said that the gods disliked air ships," King Jonathan told him warily. Jack shook his head.

"Different kind of ship. These aren't made for space travel," he explained. "They're made for air travel. They fly, like birds. And if you build them right, they're much faster than horse travel." He looked at Ianto thoughtfully. "But they haven't invented fuel cells yet," he protested. "There's no way to power them."

"I'd power one," Numair said immediately.

"I would as well," Ianto told him, with the small smile that Jack adored.

"_Mage_ power?" Jack asked the general air. He thought for a moment. "You know," he said slowly, "that might just work."

"That's settled then," King Jonathan interrupted, grinning at Jack and Ianto. "I'll call up Duke Gareth for the paperwork. Congratulations; you're both my new—my new—" he pondered for a second.

"Air Force," Ianto supplied. "It's called an Air Force."

"My new Air Force," the king said, beaming.

"It'll take time," Jack said, breaking the stunned silence. "I haven't—I mean, we have to achieve flight without fuel first. Do you guys even have kites? And then we'd have to build an engine—the first engine, I might add. You haven't the technology—"

"Then make it," the king shrugged. "I can give you a budget. And we do have time. We're not at war."

"Not yet," Daine muttered grimly. "But Scanra is starting to look awfully threatening."

King Jonathan shook his head. "If there is a functioning Air Force by the time Roald is king, I'll consider it a success." He looked at Jack and Ianto. "George has informed me of both of your—unique statuses. I've written an official document for Rikash Moonsword, if he wants it." He lifted a page from his pile of paperwork and handed it to a stunned Ianto. "It isn't citizenship, but it'll prevent him from getting shot down by our knights." The king grinned at both of their shocked faces. "Can't have one of my Air Force Captains killed in the middle of the job. I do like that," he added, beaming. "Tortall's Air Force. Top secret, for now, of course."

"Of course," Ianto said faintly, clutching Rikash's document. He didn't know if the Stormwing would be thrilled or disgusted.

"You're not going to make us swear to king and country?" Jack asked, voice also faint with shock.

"Why?" King Jonathan asked. "You can't leave our borders for five hundred years, Jack Harkness, and I know he's not going anywhere without you." He nodded to Ianto, who looked unnerved. Jack swallowed.

"Can you keep the thing about the five hundred years to yourself?" he asked wryly, and King Jonathan laughed.

"Of course! It doesn't leave this room. Now. What will you need?"

Ianto looked at Jack, and Jack caught his eye. He beamed at Ianto. "Captain Ianto Jones," Jack said delightedly. "I like it."


	4. Ianto Sets Things on Fire

**Ianto Sets Things on Fire**

To say that it was expected was like calling a llama an acceptable mode of transportation.

When Jack had told Ianto that he would hate it here, Ianto had been skeptical. Jack did have a good grasp on Ianto's personality, it was true, but Ianto had still expected the place to have a few redeeming qualities. He had been assured that the place did, indeed, have coffee. Tortall couldn't possibly be that bad, right?

No. It could be that bad, the apparent existence of coffee notwithstanding.

This was proven on the first night Ianto spent in this godforsaken place.

"Hands to yourself!" Ianto hissed for the third time, absolutely mortified. Jack sighed unhappily in his ear.

Since there were only three bedrolls, and Jack and Ianto had not, in fact, seen each other since Ianto had died, they were sharing. This was rather pleasant, because Jack was not the only one who had missed his lover. Nevertheless, the presence of four sleeping Tortallans, five horses, a Stormwing and a baby_ dragon_ made this a less than desirable environment for the sort of reunion Jack, and frankly Ianto, wanted.

"You know," Jack murmured into Ianto's ear, "one would think that you weren't happy to see me."

Ianto gritted his teeth in pure, unadulterated frustration. "I am delighted to see you," he growled. "However, I am not delighted to see you with this many people present. Unlike _some_ people, I am not an exhibitionist!"

"We could work on that," Jack purred, and Ianto glared.

"We are doing no such thing!" he hissed and Jack laughed quietly, pulling Ianto impossibly closer.

"I did miss you, you know," he murmured. Ianto sighed a little at the affectionate words and let himself be embraced, resting his cheek comfortably on Jack's warm shoulder.

Rikash snorted suddenly in his sleep and both men froze, Ianto fixing his eyes on the silhouette of the Stormwing sleeping in a tree. Rikash snuffled and ruffled his feathers, so the metal chinked quietly in the night.

Oh, this was _not_ fair. It was spectacular how unfair this was, Ianto thought furiously. In fact—

His vision suddenly went blue and Jack screeched, instinctively scrambling out of the bedroll.

The four Tortallans jolted out of bed and Rikash yelped, feathers clashing against each other. Ianto sat up in instinctual terror, because he was suddenly sitting in a nest of blue flames. His bedroll was on fire.

"What the _hell!_" he shouted and scrambled after Jack, except that the flames were following him, and the blankets twisted around his waist and he was unable to get away. His instincts screamed _panic, _and it was hard to think with even remote coherence.

"Stop it! Stop it, you idiot, _calm down!_" That was Rikash, Ianto thought dimly through the haze of adrenalin. Leave it to Rikash to tell him to calm down when he was burning to death.

Had he been thinking straight, he would have realized that the flames were not hot or even cold, but he was too busy worrying about his bedroll, which was_ burning_.

"_I'm on fire!_" Ianto bellowed furiously and then yelped in shock when he was doused with freezing water.

Jack was a quick thinker. "Ianto!" he said frantically, tossing the fire pit bucket aside and kneeling amongst the drenched and steaming bedding, smoothing Ianto's wet hair fretfully against his forehead. "Are you alright?"

Ianto opened his mouth to respond, when the tall, dark haired man that Jack had introduced as Master Numair Salmalin snorted.

Jack and Ianto stared.

Alanna the Lioness lost her battle with composure and guffawed, leaning on George Cooper, who was wiping tears from his eyes. Veralidaine Sarrasri had her hand over her mouth, trying to smother a grin as Master Salmalin lost the same battle, collapsing back onto his own bedroll, gasping with contained laughter. Even Rikash was snickering and the young dragon was turning bright green, chattering excitedly.

"Is there something you all want to tell us?" Jack asked poisonously, curling a protective arm around Ianto's shoulders. Ianto, for his part, was seriously freaked out. His bed was on fire, Jack had thrown a bucket of _freezing_ water on him, and these people were _laughing at them_. What the hell sort of a place was this?

"S-sorry, sorry," Master Salmalin managed, clearly making an effort to control himself, "but that had to be—the funniest—"

"I don't see what's so entertaining," Ianto managed, frustration, cold and fright making his voice tense.

"You set your bed on fire," Rikash informed him cheerfully, laughing like a crow.

"And—" the Lioness gasped, "And he threw—a bucket of water on you!" She collapsed into shrieks of laughter.

"I don't see how that's funny!" Jack snapped, indigent, still smoothing Ianto's sopping hair anxiously.

"You're b-bonded with a Stormwing," Master Salmalin wheezed, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "It would only make sense that you had some of his magic, as well."

"That _would_ make sense," Miss Sarrasri squeaked, still trying to hold back laughter.

"_Magic?_" Ianto demanded incredulously, and then glared at Jack.

"Oh, aye," George grinned. "I'm not the only Gifted one now, lad!"

"Oh, don't tell me you're surprised, sweetheart!" Rikash cawed. "I did warn you!"

Ianto sputtered in inarticulate fury at him, and then yipped in surprise as blue flames crackled around his hands. Jack growled, glaring at Master Salmalin.

"Make this stop," he snarled lowly at the mage, arms protectively around Ianto despite the fire, "Now."

Master Salmalin chuckled again, but rose from his own bedroll to kneel beside the two men. "You're not in any danger, Ianto Jones," he soothed, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"My bed!" Ianto yelped furiously. "On fire! Jack—"

"—was also quite safe," Master Salmalin interrupted. "That was a first manifestation of fire. It comes of a strong emotion, so if you calm yourself, you have nothing to fear. It wasn't nearly powerful enough or controlled enough to harm a man, especially if that wasn't your intention. I doubt it was even hot. Congratulations, Ianto, you're a mage."

Ianto, dripping wet, freezing cold, and sitting in the middle of a sopping mess of blankets, turned back to Jack. "I hate it here," he said dryly and Jack, reluctantly, started to grin.


	5. How I Got Rid of Them

Right, this is the one a lot of you were waiting for - I hope I could do it justice.

* * *

**How I Got Rid of Them**

Ianto shut the door to his rooms, sighing. He leaned back up against the door, closing his eyes, utterly overwhelmed for a moment. Rikash ruffled his feathers somewhere on his perch outside, and the clinking chinking sound of the metal carried through the walls. Luckily, the window was closed, so he couldn't smell him.

He was going to give that damned, over-sized bird a bath if it was the last thing he ever did, Ianto thought wryly, trying to calm himself down.

The castle was just—huge. Massive, even, and it had struck him, all at once, that this was another world. Really, a whole other world, almost its own universe. Even Ianto Jones, Torchwood Operative and Archivist extraordinaire, had his limits and the sudden realization that he was never going to see Planet Earth again had been startling.

He sank a little against the door, letting himself relax now that he was alone. He was alright, really. It had just been a sudden insight—he was in Tortall, in a pocket universe, and not only was he apparently a character out of _X-men_, but he was also immortal. Good god.

"Rikash?" he called, looking at the window across the room. It was closed, but Rikash would hear him. The king had generously allowed Numair to install a rectangle of stone that jutted out from the exterior wall of Ianto's rooms, giving Rikash a place to roost, if he so pleased. With some more stone and a bit of waxed deer hide, the little balcony became almost enclosed, a fine shelter if it rained. The Stormwing had grudgingly admitted that he rather liked it.

"Don't call _me_," groused Rikash from the other side of the window. "Lover boy's in, and he probably wants to speak with you."

"Jack's around?" Ianto asked, picking himself up off the floor and telling himself firmly that he was twenty-five and Welsh and a Torchwood Operative, and sudden culture shock was a silly reason to fall to bits, especially when he'd already been in Tortall for a few months.

Rikash's face appeared in the window, scowling. "Check the next room," he said, voice a little muffled through the warped, hand blown glass. "He's…" the Stormwing's voice faded.

"Shouldn't he be weevil hunting?" Ianto muttered sourly to himself, walking over to the interior door that connected his room discreetly to Jack's. Jack had, after about a month of delightedly welcoming Ianto back to the land of the living, banished him to Corus, much to Ianto's protest. The weevils, Jack had said, were his task, not Ianto's, and he had claimed that Ianto needed some space. Ianto had disagreed vehemently, but Jack was firm; he was not going to let Ianto feel indebted or obligated to him. It had taken quite a lot of arguing, but Ianto had gone, only after Jack had promised to see him in three months.

It had been three weeks since he'd arrived in Corus. Something was wrong.

"Something threw him, I think," Rikash replied, leaning closer to the glass of the window so that the bones braided in his hair clacked on the sill. He cocked his head at Ianto, his face a blur of color on the other side of the glass. "You alright?" He shook his matted blond hair out of his eyes. "Felt something."

Ianto scowled uncomfortably at the Stormwing. "Oh?" Rikash had been insisting that he could 'feel' Ianto's emotions lately, and frankly it was making Ianto uncomfortable. That would be just what he needed, Ianto thought sourly; a Stormwing who could tell if he was hungry or horny.

"Yes, _oh_," Rikash sneered. "Pardon me for offending your delicate sense of privacy, Your Uptightness, but you seemed disturbed."

"No need to be sarcastic," Ianto replied loftily, and Rikash snorted.

"So says you."

"Yes, so says me." He knocked on the door. "Jack?"

There was a pause from within, like a sigh. "Ianto?" asked Jack's voice, sounding resigned.

"I take my leave, good sir," Rikash muttered dryly, and shuffled away from the window when Ianto glared at him.

"Jack?" Ianto carefully turned the knob on the door, opening it. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Jack's voice was uncharacteristically quiet. Ianto stepped through the threshold. Jack was sitting on the bed, a travel bag at his feet and a haunted look in his eye that had, unfortunately, become all too familiar. Ianto closed the door behind him, blocking out the Stormwing.

"You don't look fine," he replied softly, and Jack's lips twitched in a wry half smile. "And you're back a whole two months early. Pardon me for being suspicious." He sat down next to Jack and tried to take his hand. The other man flinched away, not allowing the touch. "Jack?"

"Two months?" Jack murmured, almost to himself. "Felt like I was out there longer." He looked at Ianto and there was a curious quality to his eyes, something that looked alarmingly like despair.

"What happened, Jack?" Ianto asked quietly, and Jack swallowed, and then gave a blinding smile before tugging Ianto into his arms.

"Nothing. I'm fine. I missed you, is all!" He kissed the side of Ianto's head with a sort of desperation.

Ianto smiled into his neck. "Well, if you hadn't sent me away, you wouldn't've had to miss me," he pointed out dryly, and a tremor went up Jack's spine.

The arms around him tightened, and Jack bent to kiss him. Ianto let him, humming a little in satisfaction, but then pulled away. Jack followed, making a sound of protest, but Ianto knew a distraction when he saw one. Jack wasn't the only one good at changing the subject.

Ianto didn't say anything, but he leaned back at met Jack's eyes quizzically. To his surprise, Jack's eyes dropped.

"I shouldn't've come back," he muttered, and Ianto blinked. He tightened his arms around the other man and there was a silence.

"They're breeding," Jack blurted suddenly, looking down at Ianto's shoulder with desperate, haunted eyes. "They're breeding, I killed a den of them—they had pups—" His voice faded.

"Jack," Ianto sighed , letting Jack hide in his shoulder. The other man held himself very still, and Ianto glared at the wall behind him. A shiver of horror crawled down his spine. Jack had killed baby weevils. Suddenly, he was grateful that Jack had sent him away, and just as suddenly he hated himself for it. This was unfair, Ianto thought furiously. Jack shouldn't have to do this; they shouldn't have to kill the weevils at all, no matter how much Chaos they caused in this strange world of magic.

"We'll appeal to the gods," he growled after a moment. "I'll talk to the Hag again if I have to; we must be able to do something. This isn't right."

Jack's breathing hitched and Ianto felt him tense. There was more to it than that, Ianto realized. Jack did not fall to pieces like this easily, and he did not simply give up. There was something deeply, deeply wrong here. Jack had done something else. He'd done something horrific, Ianto thought grimly, and the only reason that he hadn't run away, back to the stars, was because he couldn't; he was bound to Tortall. So he'd run and hid. But he clearly hadn't expected Ianto to be here, waiting in his hiding place.

"Something else," Ianto said softly, and Jack shuddered.

"Nothing," Jack whispered into his shoulder, and Ianto saw him trying to compose himself.

Jack pulled away and offered Ianto a somewhat broken smile. He leaned over to kiss him, and Ianto accepted it, and pushed him so they both fell back onto the bed. Jack tugged at his tunic but Ianto sat back, looking down at him quizzically. He expected Jack to reach for him again, to distract and to hide, and Ianto would let him, like he always did. Instead Jack laid back, falling still, watching. There was a silence that was not quite awkward.

Ianto almost insisted again, but refrained. If Jack truly did not want to tell him, then Ianto would not push it. It was only - well, Jack had promised. Ianto swallowed, insecurity twisting somewhere in his heart as he watched Jack's guarded expression. Maybe Jack had lied. But there was something frightened in Jack's eyes as he stared up at Ianto, something utterly terrified. Ianto said nothing, but somehow the mood had changed. He rolled over so he was lying on his back on the bed. Jack let out a breath quietly beside him, staring determinedly up to the ceiling.

Jack's breathing hitched and Ianto could feel Jack collecting himself. Neither of them spoke.

"I killed my own grandson," Jack stated out of the blue, into the silence.

Whatever Ianto had been expecting, it hadn't been that. He did not let himself jerk in surprise and he bit back on the "_You did WHAT?"_ that screeched in his mind. The whole story, he told himself firmly. He needed to hear the whole story, and not frighten Jack away, or be frightened away himself, not after all this. Instead, keeping his voice carefully neutral, rather than commenting on the randomness of this particular topic, he asked, "Why?"

"The Four-five-six," came the bitter reply. Now Ianto did turn to look Jack in surprise, but Jack remained on his back, still staring at the ceiling. "The day you died. The—the Four-five-six sent out a transmission—do you remember? It severed the _remnant_," he growled, clenching his fists as if afraid to clutch at Ianto. Ianto reached for his hand, thinking.

He remembered that day, the betrayal of learning that Jack had given twelve kids to the aliens in the Sixties to save the world, the anger that he had not looked for another way. He remembered Jack's bitterness, and the strange look in his eye when Ianto had asked why Jack had never spoken of it. He remembered his pride when Jack had grabbed his gun with a tilt of his head, beckoning Ianto along to make things right, and they stormed the Thames House. He remembered standing in front of a great glass box filled with smoke, shooting the glass to kill the alien within, only to be told that he would die. The glass was bulletproof. He remembered the world turning hazy, a sick feeling somewhere in his gut, and telling Jack that he loved him. He remembered falling. He remembered begging Jack not to forget him and Jack pleading with the Four-five-six, safe behind the glass, and he remembered the darkness when he died.

That thing in the box _had_ said something about a remnant, hadn't it? And then—

"It screamed," Ianto said slowly. Jack's head jerked in a nod, but still he wouldn't look at Ianto. His hand had unfisted, though, and now he was clutching at Ianto's fingers like a lifeline. This was clearly a festering wound, and Ianto's heart twisted, a little, at the trust this admission required.

"They were taking the kids," Jack said flatly, as though speaking of facts and not his own memories. "There wasn't a way to stop them. Ten percent of the children of Earth, shipped off in buses to be given to that _thing_. I told Gwen to look after your sister, niece and nephew." His blue eyes flicked to Ianto and Ianto forced a smile, touching his cheek.

"Thank you."

Jack swallowed, turning onto his back and looking up at the ceiling again. "Then—I had the transmission. That sound. That sound killed it, but I had no other way to transmit it but back through the—the children." He swallowed again, voice raspy. "The way it passed its transmissions. I needed a—a focal point. One child. But—" His voice faded, and he didn't need to elaborate. So much power in the focal point would kill that one child; Ianto knew enough to work that out himself.

"You used your grandson," he whispered, forcing himself to place a hand over Jack's heart, which beat frantically against his palm. The horror sat like a block of ice in his chest, but Ianto did not let it chill him, not yet. "And what of the other children?"

"Safe," Jack whispered. "All alive, all safe; the Four-five-six died before it could take them. There wasn't another way, we were out of time - I—" His voice choked off. Ianto rested his cheek on Jack's chest, and the other man's breath hitched again, arms coming up around him.

"There wasn't another way?" Ianto asked gently. One child, to save millions. Empirically, the numbers made sense. But just like the children sacrificed in nineteen sixty nine, the numbers were not what mattered. That one child was an innocent, sacrificed in the name of humanity and with the approval of fucking Torchwood – with Jack pushing the button. His own grandson. Ianto did not let himself shiver. Obviously, Jack was not unaffected, though.

It was the only choice, Ianto thought with a sinking heart. If there was only one option, one child for ten percent of the population - it was the right choice. That didn't mean that it was a good choice, or even an acceptable one, but it was the only one. If Jack had let millions of children go to that thing, all for the life of one boy - no. That wasn't like Jack.

"There wasn't another way," Jack repeated, voice coming in a higher register, clearly fighting tears. His arms tightened around Ianto.

"S'alright," Ianto muttered, feeling a little overwhelmed, "You can cry, Jack. It's alright."

"It's _not_," Jack said harshly but somehow, Ianto found himself with an armful of Jack, burrowing into his shoulder and breathing heavily, shaking, fighting tears and losing. Ianto hummed softly, petting Jack's hair, but as he did he mulled over what he had heard. Jack's breath hitched again, and Ianto felt his tunic dampening. He looked down in surprise. Jack had lost the battle; he was crying.

Jack Harkness was crying. Into Ianto's shoulder. Ianto stared down at the dark mop of hair in shocked compassion. Jack _never _showed this much emotion.

It had obviously taken a tremendous amount of trust for Jack to even mention this, and Ianto appreciated that, clutched it to his chest like a child with a blanket. These were also obviously festering wounds, which the weevils and the damned gods here had just opened. But how to react? He assessed his own emotions.

Shock, of course. Horror, of course. But Jack felt these things tenfold and didn't need them from Ianto. Part of his anger, back on Earth, when Jack had spoken of the twelve children he'd given to the Four-five-six in the Sixties had been the way in which Jack had told them – emotionless. And that he had never told Ianto, Ianto hadn't even had an inkling. Jack had hinted that he'd done a few less-than-savory things for Torchwood, but he'd never elaborated. Now, he was telling. And Ianto understood, even if it was truly horrific.

There had been no time. One child, for the millions that would be worse than dead, had the Four Five Six laid whatever passed as hands on them. Ianto had worked at Torchwood long enough to know about sacrifice.

So he hugged Jack close as hitching tears dissolved into racking sobs. He was unsure whether to be angry or not, but Jack needed support, and Ianto was nothing if not loyal; he would give anything Jack needed. The horror, and the discussion and maybe even the anger would come later; right now was a time for grief.

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A/N: If you have any comments, please share them - just be sure to give your reasons for feeling that way! I put a lot of thought into Ianto's reaction, but any of your thoughts on the subject would be greatly useful. This is one of the very few chapters that, if you can convince me, I am open to revising... although that'll take a really good argument, because I worked very hard on this chapter :)


	6. Ianto Makes a Friend

**Ianto Makes a Friend**

"… Page Keladry, isn't it?"

Kel schooled her face into a careful mask, hiding her surprise. The strangely accented voice had come from behind her; turning, she saw a man.

He was standing casually beside a bookshelf and watching her keenly. His face, like hers, was carefully clear of all expression, although he could not hide his eyes; gray-blue, they regarded her curiously.

"Yes, sir," Kel replied uncertainly. "With all due respect, I don't think I've seen you here before."

The man inclined his head. "That's because I haven't been here before," he agreed, and although his accent was pronounced, Kel could not place it. "I'm working on a project for the king. I have a fondness for archives; I'm going to be in here rather a lot, I'm afraid. Unfortunately for you, rumor travels fast."

Kel sighed, resigned. Rumor. Wonderful. "May I ask…?" she began after a moment.

"The girl page that should've gone home," the man replied with a shrug. "That's all I've heard, really, but most of the archivists here are… rather old fashioned, shall we say?" His expression did not change, but his eyes glinted with mischief, and Kel found herself liking his dry humor.

"Many have expressed the same opinion to me," Kel told him wryly. His eyes crinkled with amusement. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir," she added after a moment. "I still don't know who you are."

The man gave a neat little bow. "Captain Ianto Jones," he introduced himself. "Formerly of Wales."

"Wales?" Kel asked, perplexed. She had never heard of such a place.

The Captain gave a long-suffering sigh. "Never mind," he muttered indignantly. "No one will have heard if it here." He scowled, but it wasn't directed at her. "I take it you're here for the book on the Tusiane wars?"

Kel nodded and Captain Jones frowned.

"Come with me," he said, gesturing. She followed, still bemused.

"There are several copies of that book, because all of the pages need it, at one point or another," the Captain explained, and Kel listened patiently, although she wondered privately why he would tell her this. What could a Captain want with a page? "A page Joren of Stone Mountain was in yesterday, and he took out seven."

Ah. Inwardly, Kel scowled fiercely. "I take it that was all of them?" she asked calmly, hiding her desire to scream in frustration. She had survived her first year and Joren was still trying to drive her out. It was barely the second day. Surely he had better things to be doing with his time!

"Or so he thought," Captain Jones continued. "Lucky for you, I'd taken out the eighth copy for myself." He led her to a shelf and pulled out the book.

Kel stared at him in shock for a moment and then swallowed, taking it when he held it out to her. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Captain Jones looked at her thoughtfully. "I used to work in a city called London," he began softly. His eyes were gray-blue and intense, and Kel found herself unable to look away. "And the place was run by a woman called Yvonne Hartmann. I disliked her, but she was one of the strongest people I have ever met. Never let it be said that a woman cannot fight, because I have seen otherwise."

Kel nodded, eyes still fixed on his. "Many would disagree," she said.

"You'll just have to prove them wrong, won't you?" he asked, and his compelling eyes glittered fiercely. Kel let herself smile.

"Will do, sir," she said, and tucked the book under her arm, grateful for the unexpected encouragement.


	7. From The Ashes

**From the Ashes**

"You'll need a coat of arms, you know."

Jack blinked, shaded his eyes and looked up. "What?"

He and Ianto were sitting cross legged on the battlements around Pirate's Swoop with variously shaped metal parts strewn around them. Alanna had asked Jack to build a better mechanism for her gates once, and Ianto was getting tired of Corus, so they'd both set off for a bit of a vacation. They were almost done, if the parts surrounding them and the men milling around down below were anything to go by.

"A coat of arms," Alanna continued and then grinned, holding up a scroll. "I just got word about your new Air Force from Jon."

"I'm so glad that everyone still knows about our secret organization," Ianto muttered.

"I'm the King's Champion," Alanna remarked dryly.

"Point," Jack said, and grinned. "We _are_ going to need a coat of arms, aren't we? A _crest_." He leaned back against the side of the wall.

"Did Torchwood have a symbol?" Alanna asked curiously. "Maybe you could use that."

"Nothing useful for here," Jack replied, shaking his head. He smirked lazily at Ianto. "What about a—"

"_No,_" Ianto cut him off swiftly. "I know what you're thinking, and _no_. Just because you have a demented mind doesn't mean we have to share it with all of Tortall."

"It was perfectly acceptable in Rome," Jack said loftily.

"In case you haven't noticed, we're not in Rome," Ianto drawled. Alanna laughed.

"I don't know how you're planning to do it," she said, "But knights each have individual crests, and we're all under the Knight Master's seal. You probably won't need shields, but it might be nice to have some way to identify yourselves from afar."

"It will be easier to draw up documents if we could sign them ourselves," Ianto murmured, almost to himself.

"We'll get to it. An official seal would be nice, though, wouldn't it? I could get a ring and everything." Jack waggled his fingers and Ianto snorted.

"You'll probably need one. Trust me, there will be a lot of paperwork involved," Alanna said with a shudder.

"That means _I_ get the ring," Ianto smirked. "Jack and paperwork is not a good combination."

"If I get a ring out of the deal—" Jack started playfully, but Alanna interrupted them with a laugh.

"Goddess, you're like children!" she grinned. "But I could commission one for you, if you like. There's all sorts of stupid regulations on official seals – you need nobles to speak for you, and while I'm sure Jon would do it with no problem, I'm here and he's not."

"Thanks, Alanna," Jack smiled at her warmly. "But there is a little matter of what our seal should be."

"Do you have anything in the library?" Ianto asked politely. "A list of seals, or something I could refer to. To get a feel for what we'd need."

"Sure," the Lady Knight replied. "You have plenty of time, though. I've got you two here for three more weeks to finish my gate, and it looks like you're almost done. You deserve a break, what with all the work you two have been doing," she added, resting a hand on Jack's shoulder. They'd been working on the gate for a good four weeks, and before that Jack had been in and out of Corus, hunting weevils on his own. He'd forbidden even Ianto to come with him – he'd said he didn't want to risk Ianto's second chance on life to something as mundane as a weevil, and he would not be persuaded otherwise.

"See? We've been working hard," Jack told Ianto smugly, leaning into Alanna's hand with surprising affection. She couldn't stop the smile that grew on her face—she'd had to work for Jack's friendship.

"I've been sitting in a room doing equations," Ianto groused. "It feels like busywork, and I like to do something useful."

"You are doing something useful," Jack soothed. "You're brushing up on physics. You'll need it, trust me. You've probably been working harder than I have. It's got nothing on Torchwood, but it's still taxing." He smiled up at Alanna. "We're almost done, by the way, and I really mean it this time. Did George show you our plans for your mechanism?"

"Yes, and I didn't even understand half of it," she told him dryly. Jack laughed.

"It's a pulley system," he explained. "That's all you really need to know. Less gears, more physics. A lot of screws, some pulleys, and you'll only need two men to open your gates. It's just the mechanism, by the way – you have the same gates as before, so don't expect them to be any stronger. They go up first, and then out, by the way. That way if someone breaks the ropes trying to invade you—well, that's too bad, because now they really can't get in." He grinned at her smugly.

"Good work. Thank you." She patted his back and then smiled at Ianto.

"It was a pleasure," Ianto said warmly. "It's been good to finally apply some of those equations. And the sun's nice, too." He glanced up at the blue sky. They'd been working at this mechanism for about four weeks, and they'd been lucky enough that the month had been mostly beautiful, one balmy day after another.

"Better weather here than in Cardiff," Jack winked. "It never stops raining there."

"I happen to be very fond of the rain," Ianto said loftily, and Jack laughed.

"Sure," he mocked. "Anyway, we were just tweaking it, running some tests, making sure everything works."

"Might we head down to your library afterwards?" Ianto asked Alanna politely. He was a sweetheart, she thought indulgently, but he really did need to relax.

"Only if you bathe first," she teased him. "You smell like oil."

"I think he smells wonderful," Jack replied with mock-indigence, and Ianto rolled his eyes.

"Well, you would," Alanna grinned, shoving Jack gently.

"_Any_way," Ianto said loudly, blushing lightly and, Alanna thought, rather charmingly, "I'll look through some of your books and maybe we can come up with something over the next two weeks."

"Sounds good," Alanna told him. "I should be around for the next month or so, but if you can't find me go to our steward. He'll get the paperwork done for you if I'm not around, okay?"

"Yep," Jack grinned at her. He stood, offering a hand down to Ianto and pulling him up. "_We'll_ go take that bath."

Ianto rolled his eyes at Jack's tone, and Alanna chuckled a little as she walked away from them along the battlements, trying to catch a glimpse of the mechanism her friends had built.

.

* * *

.

"A cow."

"I refuse to sign official documents with a _cow_, Jack."

Jack arched his neck backwards as he sprawled, laughing up at Ianto from the low couch in Alanna's library. Ianto was sitting on a table with a large tome next to him, grinning. It was three in the morning, although neither was remotely tired. They had been tossing animals and symbols back and forth and they'd just managed to catch their breath after they'd laughed themselves silly over one of the seals of a place called Pearlmouth. It had been an oyster and a goat, which looked vaguely as though they were having sex.

"An aardvark," suggested Ianto with a grin.

"A walrus," Jack countered.

"A platypus."

"A _platypus?_" Jack demanded delightedly. "What do platypuses—platypi?— have to do with flying?"

"They are the _noblest_ of creatures—" Ianto began with mock-offence, although his eyes glinted with the joke.

"Careful," Jack cautioned with a grin. "There might be a god of platypuses here."

"If there is one, he or she has my deepest sympathies," Ianto replied, deadpan. Jack laughed outright and threw a rolled-up piece of paper at him. Ianto caught it and threw it back.

"Seriously, though," Jack said. "We really should find something. What's dignified?"

Ianto snorted. "Elephants."

"Right, sorry, let me re-phrase – what's dignified and _flies_?"

"That throws Rikash right out," Ianto muttered and Jack chuckled.

"His ego doesn't need to get any bigger. Besides, could you imagine? A Stormwing as our—our what, our mascot? We'd get killed. No one would want to join," Jack grinned. "Besides, that's personal to you, you know? Your seal should have a feather on it or something, but we need something… more all encompassing for a coat of arms."

"And less hated by the general populace," Ianto added dryly.

"That too." Jack tossed the paper ball to him.

The paper paused midair, glowing slightly blue. Jack watched as Ianto focused on it, biting his lip. It rotated slowly, flattened itself, and began to fold up into origami. Ianto stared at the paper with intense concentration.

"You're starting to get good at that," Jack complemented softly and broke Ianto's focus. The paper caught fire, a brilliant blue flame, and turned to black ashes, falling to the floor. "Sorry," Jack added.

Ianto waved a hand and the ash swept itself up. "Never mind it," he said. "Just practicing." The ash rose into the air and zoomed to the fireplace. "Numair says I'm not that powerful – I'll never be a battle mage, but I can do little things. Fire, ice, a bit of telekinesis." The ashes dumped themselves into the fireplace and the dying flames crackled and sparked. Jack frowned, watching the fire.

"Jack?" Ianto asked.

"Magic," he murmured. "What sorts of Immortals are on crests? Do they do that?"

"Well, no Stormwings, for one," Ianto joked, turning back to the book. "There's a unicorn for Contè, but I'm not exactly surprised by that. There's a few griffins and dragons in here, too, and I think that's a centaur. Looks like the Copper Isles have a fair amount of flying horses, and I think Blue Harbor has a Kraken. Why?"

"I think," Jack said slowly, "I might like an Immortal on our crest."

"Any reason?" Ianto asked.

"No," Jack smiled. "I just like them." Ianto smiled back.

"I do too," he said. "We should probably find a list of them."

Jack sighed. "I waited years for Earth to get its act together and develop computers only to come here—no search network, again. Think there's a book on it?" Jack heaved himself up to go to a bookshelf. He found what he wanted with reasonable ease – it seemed like books on Immortals were popular, these days. "You said someone already had a dragon?" Jack asked.

"I'm afraid so," Ianto said regretfully. He tapped a page of the book of crests and seals next to him. "Looks like Jesslaw beat us to it." He sighed. "I would have liked a dragon."

Jack smiled at him sadly. Ianto was not prone to homesickness, but on occasion his eyes would go distant and his voice wistful. Jack understood, although he was long past missing his own home. He had not even seen his star in the night sky for hundreds of years, let alone his planet.

"I would have too, to be honest," Jack told him gently, thinking of Kitten. "Although I don't know how Daine would feel about it."

Ianto hummed a little, agreeing. He looked down at the book in front of him and slowly turned the pages, looking at the different crests and seals. Ianto missed Earth, it was true, but he tended to avoid the subject. That was something Jack understood, as well.

Ianto paused in the midst of turning a page, frowning. In front of him was the seal of Goldenlake, an eagle. He glanced at the fire, eyes thoughtful.

"You have an idea," Jack said softly, recognizing the silence.

"What about a phoenix?" Ianto asked. The fire in the grate sparked and popped, as though for emphasis.

"A phoenix?" Jack repeated, and then followed Ianto's eyes to the fire.

Phoenixes were highly symbolic back on Earth, although he didn't know about here. He thought about it and found that he had mixed feelings about the idea. Jack, as someone who regularly came back to life, was not exactly proud of his weird immortality. He did not associate himself with beautiful things like phoenixes.

But then he thought of Ianto, who was also reborn, and Tortall itself, which had given him a new chance. A phoenix didn't have to mean Jack himself, he thought. It could be symbolic of Tortall and Ianto's return. "Second chances," Jack mumbled, almost to himself.

"Reborn from ashes," Ianto whispered, and Jack swallowed.

"Do they even have phoenixes here?" he asked, looking down at the book in his hands.

"Check," Ianto replied softly.

The air had turned almost sacred as Jack thumped the massive tome on the table and began to turn the pages. Ianto slipped down from where he was sitting to press up close behind him, and Jack curled an arm around the other man's waist. The symbolism of the phoenix was close to both their hearts, almost too close. Leave it to Ianto to find the perfect seal, Jack thought with great tenderness as he turned a page and smiled. "There," he whispered.

And there it was, a beautifully inked image of a phoenix in flames, wings arching up from a violently red and orange fire.

"Yeah," Jack said. "Yeah, I think that's our crest."

Ianto nodded silently.

"How is it," Jack started, still looking at the picture, "That you always manage to come up with the perfect solution?"

Ianto curled closer into Jack's side. "I know everything," he murmured, and Jack chuckled, pulling him into his arms.

"That you do," Jack whispered, holding Ianto close, closing his eyes and just loving him, so grateful for his own personal second chance. "That you do."


	8. Dawn

**Dawn **

Jack walked into the hanger that morning, a little confused. He'd woken alone, and while the occurrence was common enough – Ianto was sometimes an early riser, but not always – it was cold enough in the Tortallan autumn to rouse him.

He was relieved to see Ianto sitting on the wooden skeleton of right front wing of his aerodyne, sanding it with a rough bit of paper glued to a handle. His hair was damp with sweat, although it was cold enough that his breath misted in the early morning. Beside the dyne was a pile of Stormwing feathers and some adhesive.

"Ianto?" Jack asked, and his lover looked up.

"Jack," he smiled, still breathing a little heavily. Jack's name came out in a puff of white mist.

"Aren't you cold?" Jack murmured, rubbing his own jacketed shoulders as he approached the other man's aircraft. "Why are you up so early?"

"There was a crow outside our window arguing with Rikash," Ianto said, turning back to sanding the wing of his dyne and starting to rub vigorously at the wood. "It woke me up. I'd had an odd dream – no Owen, don't worry—" He looked up and quirked his lips in an odd smile. Owen had been known to show up in Jack or Ianto's dreams, just to berate them or gossip or be generally annoying. "But it was still sort of weird. And then…" his voice trailed.

"And then?" Jack rested his elbows on the wing of the dyne and Ianto looked down.

"And then I thought what I could name it," he mumbled.

Jack's eyebrows rose in surprise. Ships in Tortall, like on earth, were typically named, and they had both thought to name their aerodynes and follow custom. It was a difficult task; Jack had known and loved so many people in his life that he almost wanted to call his dyne "Phoenix" or "Fire" and be done with it. Still, he had thought and finally, after a long, long process he had decided to name her after Gwen and Torchwood, still feeling guilty about leaving her behind.

It could have been after Lucia, the woman he'd loved enough to marry, but that had ended in tears; she had cast him out, and besides, he had Ianto. He thought about Rose or even the Doctor, but they just didn't fit. He had an uneasy relationship with his memory of Rose Tyler now, as she was the one to have had made him immortal. Flying a dyne called 'The Doctor' felt wrong, too. He could have named it after his daughter, but there was too much hurt there – Alice, whose name was not even really Alice as she'd changed it just to get away from him – hated him, and with good reason.

Naming his dyne after Steven was like a sick joke.

There were others, of course, too many to count – Ianto himself, for one, although that might be odd; Gregory, a former lover, and Fiona and Tom and Estelle and even maybe John Hart, although Ianto might throw a fit if he did. There was Gray, but Jack couldn't bring himself to name his dyne after the brother he good as killed. Most of the others were dead, had too much bitter history, or both. Gwen Cooper was like a beacon – she'd loved him, she'd cared for him and she'd been a good employee and a better friend. Best of all, there was no anger or resentment, only sorrow that he'd left her behind. And she meant that he was remembering Torchwood, remembering them all, even though he'd never forget them. Still, it was something tangible, and he rather liked it.

Besides, GC Mark I had a kind of nice ring to it, Jack thought with an internal grin.

Ianto had had just as much, if not more trouble naming his aerodyne. It seemed that while he enjoyed naming the things they had pulled out of the rift in Torchwood, naming something with meaning came with more difficulty. Previous generations of dynes, when they'd still called them aeroplanes, they'd both named after family; the first one they'd built, the first manned aircraft to fly without an engine they'd called the Franklin, after Jack's mostly-forgotten father. There had been a Franklin Mark I all the way through Mark V, before they'd redesigned it. The next, the first aerodyne they'd designed—aeroplanes ran on petrol, not the Gift, and had two wings rather than four—they'd called the Rhiannon, after Ianto's sister. The Rhi had gone all the way to Mark VII before they'd split their dynes; Ianto's with graceful, arching wings and silent engines for spying, and Jack's with shorter, curved wings with weapons and large, roaring engines for fighting.

But Ianto had struggled with names. His mother would not appreciate such a thing, he'd said, nor would his father. He hadn't needed to even bring up Lisa – Jack knew that he simply couldn't. There was something _wrong_ about naming a machine after a woman who had been turned into a robot.

He'd toyed with generic titles like "Phoenix," or various Welsh names but nothing had fit. Now, it seemed, he'd found something.

"Ianto?" Jack asked when his lover had grown silent.

"I—was thinking. Because you named yours after Gwen," he murmured. "I thought maybe I'd name mine after Tosh."

Jack stared at him for a moment, and then a slow smile spread across his face. "I think she'd like that, Ianto."

Ianto nodded a little. "I thought so too. And—it's Torchwood." He smiled. "And since she's going to be a spydyne, I thought it kind of was like Tosh—always looking at CCTVs."

Jack laughed delightedly. "You're right! I love it. TS Mark I?" he asked, stepping back and spreading out both his hands, indicating where the writing would be.

"Yep," Ianto grinned. "I think so. The Gwen Cooper and the Toshiko Sato. We'll need to build Owen a medical unit, or something."

"A helicopter," Jack teased, and Ianto shuddered.

"This is Tortall; it'd never come out looking like a helicopter's supposed to. We'd end up with something entirely different. Besides, the physics of rotors make my head hurt," he complained, and then paused. "Much like Owen, actually. They're loud and annoying, too." He chuckled and Jack laughed.

"Careful. He'll come whine at us when we dream," Jack grinned.

"Woe," Ianto said, deadpan, and Jack laughed again, reaching to take Ianto's hand and pull him down from the wing.

"C'mon, we have to get some wine," Jack said, leading him away.

"Jack, it's six in the morning!"

"But we have to _christen_ her!" Jack laughed, tugging on Ianto's hands until the other man stumbled forward with a smile.

"How can we christen her if there's no Christianity here?" Ianto grinned, laughing aloud when Jack spun him around.

"Then we'll—we'll— declare them before Mithros as the best dynes this world has ever seen!" Jack said dramatically.

"They're among the _only_ dynes this word has ever seen!" Ianto cried, failing to keep a straight face when Jack laughed at him.

"Must you have a counter-argument for everything I say?" Jack demanded, long-suffering, and laughed again when Ianto kissed him.

"Of course," he grinned. "Besides, she's not done yet. I was going to put some of Rikash's feathers on the wings." He indicated the pile on the ground.

"Won't that rip the canvas, or the ropes?" Jack asked, cocking his head a little. He kept Ianto close, leading him instep to a dance, although there was no music.

"Nope," Ianto grinned, fighting him playfully for the lead, "They'll be in the front, and there's enough structure for the canvass that it should be alright."

"Did you do the math?" Jack teased. Ianto, while quite good at arithmetic, had made it clear that his dearest wish was for a calculator.

Ianto rolled his eyes and did not dignify that with a response. "She'll still fly. She might fly quieter, actually, for the feathers."

Jack spun him. "Always a plus for a spydyne."

Ianto ended up back against his chest. "Always. She's got a few throwing stars on her wings—I'm going to have to practice that."

"Make sure everyone's clear of our training field," Jack murmured, kissing his forehead.

"I'm not stupid," Ianto replied dryly.

"Did I say that?" Jack chided him. Ianto chuckled.

They stood for a moment in the big, silent hangar, looking at each other. The Gwen Cooper Mark I sat in a dark shadow, crouching like a massive predator, both pairs of wings swept back for speed. The to-be-named Tosh had taller landing gear so she perched like a dragonfly, her long wings swept out to glide with silence.

"We've done it," Ianto said quietly.

"The Tortallan Air Force," Jack replied with a grin.

"The Tortallan Air Force," Ianto repeated. "TAF."

Jack grimaced. "That's awful."

Ianto spun him, picking up the dance again. "Better than JAFFGoT."

"JAFFGoT?"

"Jonathan IV's Air Force For the Good of Tortall."

Jack laughed. "That's even worse!"

And, in the shadows of the first aerodynes that would fly for King and Country, they laughed together and danced until the sun rose.


	9. Riding Horses

**Riding Horses**

"Please know that I'm doing this under heavy protest," Ianto said.

"Duly noted," Jack replied cheerfully. Ianto scowled, and Daine giggled.

It was about a week after the fiasco with the Great Gods. Alanna and George had ridden back to Pirate's Swoop, since Jack and assured them that he would be out in the woods for at least a few months, and that they could handle it. Numair and Daine were harder to persuade because, despite Daine's distaste for Jack's new duty, they had promised to stand by their friend. Numair was also endlessly fascinated by the bond between Ianto and Rikash, and was training a reluctant Ianto to be a mage.

Jack was less than thrilled that Ianto was helping him, and had made it very obvious. Jack got anxious before each hunt; almost every day, he argued that Ianto should stay behind. The other man, predictably, refused and Jack always caved, clearly too happy to have Ianto back to truly fight with him. This meant that come dusk, Ianto and an extremely protective Jack would venture out in the woods to hunt weevils, this time to kill. Daine and Numair stayed behind, watching for unwanted Immortals and sending messages to the king. Rikash was always somewhere close, often perched in one of the trees overhead. He never volunteered to help and there was something thoughtful in his green eyes whenever Jack and Ianto argued about the weevils.

At the moment however, it was early afternoon and Ianto was standing on a log next to Red, who was giving him an indulgent look. Having grown up in a reasonably urban twenty first century neighborhood, Ianto had never learned to ride. Daine and Jack were determined to fix that.

"Red promises he won't dump you," Daine told him.

"Tell him I'm ever so reassured," Ianto replied drolly, and Jack snickered.

"You have to learn eventually," Jack grinned, his voice heavy with affection.

"I'll invent the automobile," Ianto shot back. Jack chuckled.

"Somehow I doubt that, Ianto Jones."

"Oh, really?"

They stared at each other, stubborn as mules, although Jack's lips were twitching with mirth, and Ianto's eyes, despite his smooth face, were bright with amusement.

"Oh, for flight's sake, just get on the horse already," Rikash crowed from where he was perched up in a tree. He was reluctant to leave Ianto, it seemed, although he had not yet told them his reasons.

Ianto glared at him. Red snorted and pressed his dark, soft nose into Ianto's shoulder, causing the man to flinch back in surprise and nearly fall off the log he was standing on.

"Careful, there," Jack said, steadying him. Ianto scowled, and Jack turned to Red. "You have to be gentle," he told the horse conspiratorially. "He's not used to large animals." Red pricked his ears forward and regarded Jack before swinging his head around to look at Ianto, who glared.

"I'll show you large animals," Ianto grumbled indigently and swung himself clumsily onto Red's back. The dappled gelding snorted in surprise, throwing up his head. Ianto sat stiffly, and hesitantly took the reins. From above them, Rikash snickered. The humans ignored the Stormwing.

"Right!" Jack grinned, and took a hold of Ianto's left ankle. The Welshman looked down at him with injured dignity. "Heels down, knees bent, seat in the saddle—"

"As if it could be anywhere else," Ianto muttered, and Daine laughed again.

"Relax," she advised. "You're making Red nervous; you're sitting so stiffly he's afraid to move or he'll drop you."

"Ever so reassuring," Ianto muttered. With an effort of will, he relaxed his muscles. Daine grinned again.

"It's not that bad! Tighten your reins a little bit, so you can feel his mouth—just feel, mind, no need to be tugging on him—that's good. Keep your heels down. Now, brush his sides with your feet, and he'll walk."

"Aided by the fact that the wildmage told him to walk, I'm sure," Ianto replied dryly, and Jack grinned.

"He's been listening to me! Right, Red?" Jack patted the horse's neck, and Red snorted at him with obvious affection.

"You have who _knows_ how many years of experience," Ianto muttered, but he brushed the horse's sides with his heels anyway.

"I certainly don't," Jack agreed humorously, walking on Red's left side. "I lost count after twenty."

"Time travel will do that," Numair put in, from where he was building a fire with Kitten.

"As will absurd age," Rikash called from his tree.

"Don't you have a battlefield to deface?" Jack growled at the Stormwing, who ruffled his feathers indignantly in reply. Red's ears flicked back at the chinking, clanking sound, and Ianto eyed them warily.

"You're tensing," Daine said gently from his right side. "Relax. Now, you're going to squeeze with your left leg to push him to the right, and pull gently on his right rein to turn him. Okay?"

Ianto nodded, relaxed his muscles, and did so. "Not that hard," he said, and smiled at Daine, who beamed back.

"Told you Red was a good boy," Jack beamed, grinning. "Want to try for a trot?"

"_No,_" Ianto and Daine chorused, and Rikash snickered.

"He has to learn how to steer and develop his seat," Daine said firmly.

"_I _think he has a perfect seat," Jack stated, and Ianto rolled his eyes heavenward while Rikash laughed like a crow.

.

* * *

.

Ianto was sitting at a table in the archives, with five pages, including prince Roald, clustered around him.

It had taken a solid month for Jack to convince Ianto to leave the woods, and then a few weeks later to let Jack leave again, when he had returned shaken and scared after killing a nest of weevils. Jack sent periodic messages now, as well as several things for Ianto to research. Sometimes, Jack stopped hunting for a week and went to Corus to bring Ianto a gift from the city, as though Ianto couldn't just go there himself. Still, it was thoughtful, and Ianto appreciated it.

He was not quite sure how, but in the months when Jack was away, Ianto had befriended the girl page, Keladry of Mindelan. Alanna would not set foot in the palace because of this girl, as the king had forbidden and kind of contact between the lady knight and the page. This had drawn Ianto's attention, he supposed, and in the few times he had run into the girl he had found that he admired her quiet strength. She seemed to like him, really, as she tended to bring her little group to the archives when they had Tortall's equivalent of homework, and more often than not, they gravitated toward Ianto.

Since Jack had gone, Ianto had taken up to haunting the Palace Archives, where he felt most comfortable. It was odd not to be an archivist, really, Ianto was musing, sitting back in his seat and idly watching Duke Gareth the Younger train a new man. Since King Jonathan had made him a Captain, Ianto had been rather at a loss. He did not actually know how to build anything more complicated than a bookshelf. He didn't, technically, have a full college education; Torchwood London had snatched him up before he could finish. He knew a little physics and could poke hopefully at a broken down car, but not nearly enough to actually build an engine, never mind an aeroplane.

He sighed and sat forward again to look down at the book on the table. They were all hand written; the day the Tortallans invented the printing press was the day Ianto would throw a party.

"Alright there, Captain?" Nealan of Queenscove, a cocky page of about sixteen asked with a crooked grin.

"Fine, fine," Ianto told him, sitting forward again and returning to his book, a dry tome about the Gift that was not particularly helpful. Ianto thought fleetingly of how much he missed the internet.

"Still not going to tell us what you're Captain _of_?" The page asked, voice decidedly teasing. Keladry smacked him.

"Neal! It's secret, honesty," she admonished, rolling her eyes.

"You should respect your elders," Ianto told Neal gravely, hiding a smile, and the boy snorted.

"It's just not fair," he lamented. The pages groaned and Ianto gave him an amused glance, preparing for another long tirade. Neal was quite the character, and even though he was just a page and Ianto probably out-ranked him in the strange Totrallan court, he rather liked the boy.

"Ianto, Ianto, Ianto," a familiar and dearly loved voice broke in before Neal could start, "have I got a surprise for you!" The pages all jumped and looked around to the entry way of the Archive. Ianto was rather embarrassed; he could _feel_ his face lighting up.

"Jack!" He leapt from his seat and turned, just barely stopping himself from running to the other man. "I thought you were going to be gone for another week." He couldn't quite stop himself from grinning delightedly and he was gratified to see Jack smiling brightly right back.

"Got back early," Jack said, striding over. "I _had_ to come back to show you what I found." He came to stand just barely inside Ianto's personal space.

"It's not an engine, is it?" Ianto asked dryly, resisting the urge to throw his arms around the other man. Jack laughed.

"Nah, it's better. Who're your friends?" he craned his neck over Ianto's shoulder, looking at the pages.

"Oh," Ianto said, turning and taking in the curious eyes of the pages, who had all stood politely at Jack's entrance. "My apologies. Jack, this is Page Keladry of Mindelan, Nealan of Queenscove, Cleon of Kennan, Merric of Hollyrose, Owen of Jesslaw, Seaver of Tasride and Prince Roald of Conte, of course. This is Captain Jack Harkness." He nodded to Jack. The pages all bowed.

"Maybe _you'll_ tell us what the Air Force is," Neal said hopefully. Ianto hid a smirk, rolling his eyes at Jack, who replied with his patented hundred-watt grin.

"_Neal_!" Kel hissed, and there were a few nervous chuckles.

"A pleasure to meet you, Captain," Prince Roald interrupted politely, walking over to shake Jack's hand.

"And you as well, Highness," Jack replied formally, shaking the offered hand. "I hope you don't mind if I steal Captain Jones away for a few hours." He winked at Ianto, and the prince couldn't hide his smile at the charm that Jack exuded.

"So you're not going to tell us," Neal sighed regretfully. Kel jabbed his side visibly, and Ianto shared another amused glance with Jack.

"Nope! Give us four years or so, and you'll know. Lovely to meet you all!" Jack grinned charmingly, grasped Ianto's elbow, and pulled. Prince Roald, looking bemused, went to sit down again.

Ianto rolled his eyes heavenward and followed, lifting a hand in farewell to the pages. "And where are you taking me?"

"A dark corner where I can molest you," Jack replied immediately.

"Right," Ianto agreed breathlessly. "And then after that?"

"It's a surprise!" was the gleeful response and Ianto held back a laugh.

Jack was true to his word; as soon as they came across a broom closet, he opened the door and yanked a mock-protesting Ianto inside. He pulled the door closed with his foot and crowded Ianto playfully against the wall, stealing a heated kiss and a warm "missed you" that whispered over Ianto's lips before pulling him, gasping and breathless, back out into the open.

"You-you weren't even gone that long," Ianto muttered, straightening his tunic which Jack had naturally wrinkled.

"Was," Jack told him, grinning, a fond light in his eye as Ianto fussed. Ianto mumbled something sarcastic about codependency, but Jack only winked and tugged on his hand.

"So what is it that you so desperately want to show me?" he demanded as Jack pulled him to run through the halls of the palace.

"You'll see, you'll see," he laughed.

Bemused but smiling, Ianto followed Jack down to a paddock by the stables. Predictably, Red was there, and he whinnied a greeting when they approached. A chestnut horse was grazing placidly next to him, and it looked up when Red made the sound.

"What?" Ianto asked as they skidded to a halt. Jack grinned, handed Ianto an apple, and opened the paddock door.

"Ianto Jones, I want you to meet your new mare."

"My new _what?_" Ianto spun and stared at Jack. Red snorted and came through the opened gate to put his nose on Ianto's shoulder. He bent down to steal the apple.

"Get back in there," Ianto muttered, shaking off the shock and shooing Jack's gelding back into the paddock. Red huffed and turned obediently. Ianto and Jack followed him through the gate and the chestnut pricked her ears forward, but did not approach.

"She's a bit shy," Jack stated, taking Ianto by the hand and pulling. Stunned, Ianto followed.

"Jack—" he said, completely at a loss for words. "Jack this was—unnecessary—"

"What? You can't borrow Red forever, and now we can go riding together." He smiled hopefully at Ianto. "Besides, when I saw her I couldn't _not_ buy her. She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Ianto nodded, still stunned beyond words. He let go of Jack's hand and walked over to the mare, as though in a dream. Her nostrils flared with alarm and she watched him approach warily.

"Easy does it," Ianto told her softly.

"Daine had a chat with her," Jack said, although he kept his distance as Ianto approached. "Apparently her mom died when she was really small, and they started her working a little too early. I bought her off a crook in the lower city who wanted to sell her to a currier, where they would've run her ragged. Daine said that you've just got to reassure her a lot; she sort of had the trust beaten out of her."

"You would get me a difficult horse," Ianto said softly, but there was only awe in his voice. "I've only ever ridden Red and Spots and Darkmoon, although that was just the once." He held out the apple, and the mare leaned forward with sudden interest.

"She'll take care of you," Jack said, tone hushed. "Show her you're not going to abandon her, and she'll take care of you."

"Does she have a name?" Ianto asked dreamily. The mare sniffed the apple and jerked away, eyeing him. He hummed a little, and she came back, carefully taking a bite.

"The crook called her Leggy, but that's—"

"—absolutely awful," Ianto finished derisively. "What did Daine say she called herself?"

"She didn't," Jack shrugged.

Ianto hummed and stroked the mare's neck carefully when she finished the apple. She huffed a little, turning her head to watch him warily with one brown eye. "What do you think about Anwen?" he asked quietly.

"I think it's Welsh," Jack accused with a smile.

"Of course it's Welsh," Ianto muttered dryly. "It means _beautiful_."

"Fitting," Jack said. Red snuck up behind him and butted his shoulder. Jack grinned and smacked his gelding's nose playfully. "What do you think, old man?" he asked. "Anwen. Means _beautiful_ and she's something, isn't she?"

Ianto rolled his eyes, but he knew better than to think that Jack was mocking him. Red really was smart enough to understand human speech; he'd spent a fair amount of time with Daine, and the wildmage changed every animal she touched.

"Anwen," Ianto muttered. The chestnut mare pricked her ears forward. "Yes, alright. I'll call you Anwen." Ianto reached to stroke her nose but the mare threw up her head, refusing. He waited patiently and she lowered her nose again, sniffing him. Ianto smiled. When she was close enough, he blew carefully into her nose as Daine had taught him, teaching her his scent. The recently daubed Anwen snorted in surprise before leaning forward and hesitantly returning the favor.

"I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship," Jack said. Both Ianto and Anwen turned to stare at him. Ianto glared, and Red bent down and bit Jack's shoulder for his sentimentality.

"Ow!" he yelped and Ianto caught Anwen's eye. He smirked as she pricked her ears forward and, sharing the joke, she nickered. Ianto laughed outright and patted her nose.

A friendship indeed.


	10. Promises, Promises

**Promises, Promises **

She was blonde and lovely, and had quite the infectious laugh. Her blue eyes were slightly darker than Ianto's, although they suited her face very nicely. Jack smiled charmingly at the court lady whose name he'd forgotten and passed her a drink.

"I'm not sure I _believe_ you're a captain," she flirted with an attractive quirk of her lips. Daintily, she sipped the wine he'd given to her.

"Yeah, well, you can believe what you like," Jack winked, taking a sip of his own drink, which was water. "But the papers say I'm a captain."

The Midsummer ball was in full swing. Jack had missed both Equinoxes and the Midwinter ones because he had been out weevil hunting, and he was starting to regret it now. This was sort of fun. He glanced back, once, at the table where Ianto was sitting, chatting with Numair. The mage had his head bent close to Ianto - they seemed to be arguing a point – and Daine, often close to Numair's side, was nowhere to be seen. Jack frowned a little to himself, wondering where she was.

"Jack—" purred the woman, and he looked back at her with a sunny smile. In the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of brown curls. Ah. Okay, Daine was—well, actually, she looked like she was—

A hand clamped on his shoulder. _"Jack Harkness," _Daine hissed furiously. Jack blinked down at her. Alright, she was here. And angry. What?

"Be right back, doll—" Jack told the court lady with whom he'd been flirting as Daine dragged him away.

"What in Mithros' name do you think you're doing?" she snarled, pulling him by the sleeve around the dance floor to the other side of the ball room. Crowds parted gracefully for the irate wildmage and Jack followed her, vaguely bemused. The orchestra, stationed in the back of the hall, briefly reached a crescendo as a dance ended. There was a round of applause.

Jack stared down at her, perplexed at her fury. "What did it look like I was doing?" he asked wryly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "She's—"

"—_not Ianto,_" Daine hissed. Jack blinked.

"What?" he asked, thrown.

She stopped walking at a column in the great ball room. "Look," she growled, gesturing to the other side of the marble structure. Jack followed her hand.

Through the active crowd of the ball, he could see Ianto Jones sitting tensely in his seat, still arguing with Numair. But even from this distance, Jack could tell his heart wasn't in it; he kept glancing back, to somewhere in the ballroom. Had he seen something? Jack frowned.

"I don't understand," Jack told Daine. Ianto was upset, he thought in concern, looking him up and down through the crowds. He wanted to go to him – had Numair inadvertently said something cruel?

"What do you mean you don't understand?" Daine demanded, shaking his arm. "You were doing it right in front of him!"

"Doing _what_?" Jack asked, alarmed. "Daine, you really have to explain better. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"That woman, you dolt," she hissed furiously, shaking his arm again. "Jack, I thought you loved him!"

Jack's heart clenched. He hadn't yet told Ianto that he loved him, although it was painfully obvious to all of the friends he'd made here. But why would—

Oh.

_Oh_.

Jack swore very quietly as comprehension dawned. "He's really upset about—?" he started incredulously.

"Wouldn't you be?" Daine exploded. A few people around then glanced their way, but Jack smiled charmingly and Daine waved them off.

"No," Jack growled back at her, frustration and sudden, harsh guilt coursing through him. He hadn't meant—Ianto knew better than to take it personally, didn't he—? "I'm not from a monogamous culture. _Dammit. _He never seemed to..." His heart twisted unexpectedly. Jack leaned back against the column.

"_What_?" Daine demanded furiously. "Jack—"

"But I can't _do_ monogamous," Jack interrupted her, pushing away from the column to grasp her shoulders and shake her gently. "It's all well and good for the twenty-first century or whatever year it is here, but I'm _terrible_ at it."

"_You're terrible at it?_" Daine demanded, voice cold. She stilled his hands. "Jack, this is the same man you raged at the gods about. This is the same man the Hag tried to use as a bargaining piece. If you don't love him, then what _do_ you love?"

"Of course I love him," Jack hissed, a lump forming in his throat at the admission. "Of course I do. I'd—" he swallowed. _Anything, _he thought — "I'm not from a monogamous culture," he repeated, defeated. "It's always seemed silly to me, even after years and years on Earth. It's so -_ restricting._ I've tried it before. It never works out."

"This is a conversation for Ianto, not me," Daine told him firmly. "Although you're going to need a better excuse, because if Numair ever told me that, frankly I would kill him." She released his arm and gestured back to Ianto, who had leaned forward now and was still talking animatedly with Numair. "Go to him."

Jack's shoulders slumped. He glanced at Ianto, Daine, then back to the woman standing across the dance floor. She fluttered at him.

"Oh, hell," he mumbled, and strode off to Ianto's table, leaving Daine by the column.

"—really none of your business," Jack heard Ianto telling Numair in a heated undertone as he approached. Jack felt a surge of fondness for him; he knew exactly what this conversation was about.

"Ianto," he started. Ianto rolled his eyes.

"Oh, good," Numair muttered. Jack gave him a rather confused look, and the mage went back to eating his dinner, clearly eavesdropping.

"Jack," Ianto sighed, voice exasperated. He kept his eyes fixed on his plate, where he started furiously cutting the main course with a steak knife. "Jack, you—"

"Ianto," Jack blurted, pulling out the seat on the other side of Ianto and sitting down. "I didn't mean—"

"Stop." Ianto looked up and glared at him. Jack stopped. "I'm not having this conversation in the middle of a crowded ballroom. Go back to her, Jack. Have fun."

Jack frowned. He glanced back at the woman – lady something-or-other, from a fief Jack couldn't name – and then looked at Ianto. "She doesn't matter," he told him in an undertone, and despite Ianto's rolled eyes and red face, he continued. "You _must_ know that, Ianto. She doesn't matter."

"Jack, you can no more help who you are than I can help who I am," Ianto said, eyes averted. "Go. It's alright."

"Ianto Jones," Numair scolded softly from Ianto's other side. Ianto glared at him.

"This," he growled, "is really none of your business."

"It's my business if my friends are hurting," the mage replied evenly, dark eyes moving from Ianto to Jack and back again. "And you're both even more foolish than Daine and I. For Mithros' sake, please speak with each other."

"We _are_ talking," Jack said, hopelessly confused.

"We don't need to talk!" Ianto snapped. "It's fine. Jack's _Jack. _I'd be an idiot if I thought anything otherwise."

Numair mumbled something about already being an idiot, and Ianto glared.

Jack frowned and searched Ianto's face and finally caught his eyes. They were pale and gloomy and tugged at his heart. "It's not okay if it upsets you," Jack said softly, eyebrows drawn in concern. Ianto shook his head.

"I'm fine," he lied. It was pretty unconvincing. Jack stood.

"Come on, Ianto," he sighed. Ianto looked at him quizzically.

"What?"

"Come on. We're going back to our rooms."

"There we go," Numair muttered to himself. Absurdly, Jack wanted to either kick the back of his chair or pull the mage's long hair in irritation, but he refrained.

"_Jack,_" Ianto complained, exasperated, but Jack tugged him out of his chair and shooed him across the room.

The two of them wove in and out of the moving crowd of ladies in their stunning dresses and men in their finest clothing. The hose was oddly flattering, Jack thought idly to himself, even if it did itch like none other. Still, it was worth it; all those legs toned from horseback riding were a sight to see. The crowd parted for them and eventually he and Ianto reached the huge, double doors that led out of the ballroom.

"I'm going to kill the both of them," Ianto growled as Jack pushed open one of doors. Jack chuckled, a little anxious.

They made their way back to their adjoining rooms in silence. One of the reasons he adored Ianto so was his ability for silence, Jack thought ruefully, glancing over at him. He and Ianto could spend hours together in perfect silence and for someone like Jack, constantly moving and talking and deceiving, it felt honest, somehow, and relaxing. No one could lie, sitting in comfortable silence like that.

This silence tasted different, though. Both men were uncomfortable, but Jack knew that this was a conversation they needed to have. Like Jack, Ianto wouldn't mention if anything was wrong unless forced.

They reached their rooms. Ianto opened the door with a wave of his hand, and Jack smiled.

"Lazy," he teased softly as the door opened with a blue twinkle and a creaking noise.

"I don't see you opening the door, sir," Ianto replied wryly, the old formality a nickname that was almost tender. Jack smiled softly and shooed Ianto inside. The door closed.

The silence turned awkward and Jack cringed internally. "Tell me what's wrong," he said after a moment.

"Nothing," Ianto muttered, going over to sit on the sofa. Jack followed him, only he crouched in front of Ianto.

"I don't believe that," he said flatly. "Daine's right, you know. You _are_ from a monogamous culture."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Daine and Numair ought to mind their own business," he complained. Jack smiled ruefully.

"They're not as bad as Alanna," he said wryly. "Just be glad _she_ hasn't decided to meddle. There's a reason they call her Lioness. But you're avoiding the subject."

Ianto sighed. He looked down and away from Jack's eyes. "Yes, Jack," he said awkwardly after a moment. "I am from a monogamous culture. But I know you're not. And I understand. Besides, you haven't promised me anything," he added in an undertone.

Jack stared at him, floored. "But I sleep with _you_, Ianto," he murmured, and to his mind, that was good as a promise. Damned twenty-first century. Ianto raised an eyebrow, and Jack shook his head. "No, no, not euphemistically," he corrected, waving a hand as though waving the thought away. "Literally. You are the one I rest with. Do you know how long it's been since I literally shared a bed with—" he paused and realized. "This doesn't translate," he muttered.

Ianto's eyebrow did not go down. "I don't understand," he said flatly.

"Sex," Jack explained frankly, "It's an act, it's—it's nice and it's fun for everyone involved. But it's not—sleep. Sleep's—personal. You're vulnerable when you sleep. I'm not explaining this well," he sighed. Ianto opened his mouth to say something, but Jack cut him off.

"Okay, we're going to go about this differently. The human species," he said clinically, recalling a lesson from his training, long ago at the Time Agency, "The human species is sentient, and as such uses sex socially as a method of communication. It strengthens the bond between two or more individuals. You follow?"

Ianto nodded slowly. "I'm not sure where you're going with this," he muttered, looking uncomfortable. Jack laid a hand on his knee.

"Just listen. That's what's listed under _mating behavior_ in some encyclopedia I can't remember," he said. "And that's what it is: mating behavior. The instinct to pass our genes on, et cetera, et cetera. But it doesn't mean trust and it certainly doesn't mean—love." Jack forced the last bit out. Ianto watched him keenly, although his eyes widened just a fraction at the mention of love.

"But—sleeping does," he said slowly.

"Yes," Jack told him urgently. It was hard to explain something so fundamental to his worldview. It was like trying to explain the meaning and significance of an engagement ring, something that had been foreign to him when he'd first come to Earth. There was so little his own culture left over in his heart, after so many years away from home—but this was something he'd kept, especially after he'd been killed in his sleep for the first time. "You can have sex with whoever, but… but you really only sleep with someone you trust."

Ianto looked down. There was a short pause. Jack took a breath.

"S-someone you love," he added in a whisper, and Ianto's eyes snapped back to Jack's. "You see the difference? I'll do whatever with anyone… but you're the one I rest with. It's—my time—we didn't really do monogamy, not in the literal sense, anyway. But we still fell in love." He looked at Ianto earnestly. Ianto quirked a small, shy smile and took Jack's hand from his knee. He held it carefully and traced along Jack's lifeline.

"You can't get away with hints forever, you know," he muttered, watching Jack's palm. Jack gave a nervous laugh.

"I can try," he replied. Ianto rolled his eyes, and Jack took another breath and then gathered himself.

"I _do_ love you," he said, too quickly. "Really. You have to know that by now. I'd do—anything—"

Ianto sighed and closed his eyes. He squeezed Jack's hand, and Jack quieted. "That was all I needed to hear," he said softly. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Jack."

"Can I promise to try?" Jack whispered.

"No," Ianto said, opening his eyes and looking down at Jack. "No, not even that. Because in _my_ culture, Jack, monogamy is it. There aren't exceptions. I don't want empty promises; in fact I don't even want promises that you mean. Because I won't cage you like that. You're Jack bloody Harkness," he smiled sadly. "There are probably ballads somewhere about all the people you've shagged. I—I love you the way you are," he said quietly, and Jack's heart turned over with sheer, irrational joy. "I wouldn't try to change you like that. Just—if you're going to—not in front of me, okay?" he finished weakly.

"I can promise that," Jack said earnestly, standing so he could clamber onto the couch and take Ianto into his arms. "Absolutely."

And, in his mind, Jack made another promise, one he meant this time. It may have been as old fashioned, stupid and restricting as a corset, but he hadn't liked the hurt expression on Ianto's face at the ball tonight. Jack Harkness was going to hang up his condom, he thought with wry humor. He was going to try for monogamy, if only to keep the pain out of Ianto's eyes.

And then, if he could do it, Jack swore to himself that he would make a real promise to Ianto one day, and keep it.

* * *

.

Don't forget to leave a review!


	11. Owen Harper & the Planet of the Daffodil

Disclaimer: The beginning of Owen's story in this one-shot is the opening of the Torchwood episode "A day in the Death." The Isolus are an alien species from Doctor Who and belong to the BBC.

A/N: Hello everyone! Firstly, thank you to all my reviewers who have been following along. Sorry about the slower updates and lack of replies; I don't reply because it takes me a good extra hour, and I don't want these stories any more delayed than they already are. They're delayed, by the way, because unlike Guardian and Spaces, they're not all finished! I post them as I finish them, which is why it takes such a long time, because I have to write them and THEN go back and edit them.

Anyway, a bit of a change of pace in this chapter; this is a bit of Owen's back story, and it takes place during Guardian of the Gates. Owen is quite different from—well—any other character in Torchwood and in Tortall, so his narrative has a very different feel to it.

He swears. A lot. If this bothers you, I'm quite sorry.

I wanted to call this "Owen Harper and the Order of the Phoenix," since Jack and Ianto's seal is a phoenix, but it just wouldn't fit.

Also: if you do not know Torchwood PLEASE leave a review at the end of this chapter! Owen's story is slightly complicated, and I've tried to make it easily understandable; I'd like to know if I succeeded. Enjoy!

**Owen Harper and the Planet of the Daffodil  
(or, Owen Has a Really Weird Day)  
**

Well then, Owen Harper thought to himself. This sucks.

The reactor went critical. The room went white, and he'd closed his eyes, prepared to go into the bloody light for once and for all, and then—

And then the light faded. He was still in the reactor room.

"What the hell?" he asked no one in particular, or he tried to, anyway. No sound came from his lips, which, he realized in dismay, were not there.

Oh, shit, he thought frantically. Oh, shit. He was still in the land of the living, even though he'd shuffled off his proverbial mortal coil.

Well, wasn't this bloody typical, he tried to shout but, of course, no sound emerged. Wonderful. He tried to walk to the door, but he had no legs. What the hell? Was he just some sort of—some sort of conscience _mist_? What the bloody fuck was he supposed to do now?

He waited, and nothing happened. The room was the same. Some of the panels were melted, and the lights no longer flashed. It was dark, but he could see as well as he could before. Nothing continued to happen. Owen had rather thought that this level of radioactivity would cause things to glow or something, but it looked just the same. If he'd had arms, he would have crossed them, but of course he did not.

It was remarkably dull, even if it was remarkably radioactive, and the amount that it sucked was even more remarkable. If he ever got his nonexistent hands of John Fucking Hart, he would kill him.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

He waited. The room did not change. Once, one of the panels fell off the console. That was an exciting fucking day. God, but this was boring. If Owen had to spend all of eternity in this damn room, he didn't know what he'd do. Go insane? Sounded good, he thought viciously, but there was no one to yell at. Not that he could yell.

He waited.

Hours and hours and hours, days and days and days, and nothing happened. Nothing ever happened. He could not sleep, and he could not move. He couldn't even _see_, he realized, not really. He knew where he was, and he knew who he was, but he realized that it was not his eyes that he was using. He had no eyes. So he just knew he was in that damn reactor room.

Was this death? It wasn't fucking darkness; it was eternity in the same goddam place. He'd rather take the darkness.

No, Owen thought with a surge of dread that would have translated into a shiver if he was substantial, he wouldn't rather the darkness. Anything was better than the darkness, even perpetual boredom.

He suddenly wished Tosh were here. And then, just as suddenly, he didn't. The damn place was radioactive, he thought with a whisper of sadness. She couldn't be here; it would kill her. Tosh should stay far away.

What about Dianna? No, she was still alive, out there somewhere…

What about Kate?

He would have swallowed if he could. He'd tried not to think about his long-dead fiancée but dead himself, his thoughts kept straying to her, and it wasn't like he had anything better to do. It had been five years ago, but he still sometimes missed her. He wondered where she was.

She wasn't stuck in the hospital room where she died, was she?

No. Owen rather thought he was a special case. He'd been brought back to life with that fucking glove and then been discorporated a few months later. Kate had just died.

God, but this was _mind melting_. Nothing ever happened here. Was anyone going to open the fucking door and try to fix the reactor? Or were they just going to leave this damn place to _rot? _

He would have sighed in irritation, except that he had no breath. That was nothing new, though. He hadn't had breath since they'd brought him back with the glove a few months ago.

This really sucked.

And then, suddenly, a voice from nowhere.

_-Jack Harkness, —_ it said quietly.

I'm going to fucking kill him! Owen raged silently, before he could stop himself. And when he resurrects, I'm going to _kill him again!_

Silence. Of course it had not heard him, Owen thought sourly. It might not have even been real. And then—

_-… and who might you be, little spitfire? — _The voice asked quietly, tinged with amusement. Owen would have gasped, if he could.

You can hear me? He asked eagerly.

_-Yes. This was the last place I would have expected to find one of my children. What is your name?—_

Owen, he replied without thinking. What makes you think I'm your kid? You don't sound anything _like_ my mum, thank god.

Unless, of course, you _are_ God, he muttered. Oh, bloody hell; you're not God, are you? That would just be typical.

Silence.

That's it, Owen thought, or said—the distinction when one was insubstantial was negligible. I've gone mad. Lost what little mind I had. Torchwood, died twice, stuck here for who knows how long; I'm a goner.

The voice chuckled. _–You are not mad. You simply have the misfortune to be out of your depth, much like another man I know. Would you care to strike a bargain with me?— _

Who the fuck do you think you are? Owen demanded.

_-I am from a land very far from here,- _ the voice murmured, sounding amused at Owen's foul language, which only agitated the dead medic even more. _–My name is Gainel, and where I am from, I am the Lord of Dreams and Shadows. Jack Harkness refuses to speak with me face-to-face; I need an envoy, for I cannot raise the dead of this world.— _ The voice paused.

Figures it'd be bloody Jack, Owen muttered, and the voice laughed. Owen would've scowled, if he could.

_-Do you consent, little spitfire?—_

The name's Owen, Owen grumbled, considering. What do I get out of this deal?

_-Where I am from, the dead have access to their own realms,—_ Gainel murmured softly. _–You are neither dead nor alive; you are the stuff of dreams, a shadow, a ghost, and therefore one of mine. However, I can speak to my brother. If you help me, Owen, I can grant you access to the Realms of the Dead.—_

I'm not going to the darkness, Owen snapped, frightened. No fucking way.

_-Darkness? No. There is a city and a country; a whole realm devoted to the dead, where I am from.—_

How do I know you're not lying? Owen asked warily. I've been dead before. You're making this up.

_-I am not, I assure you. My world is different from this one, and surely it is worth taking the chance, rather than standing here for eternity. You will have to trust me. Well? Do you consent?—_

You can get me out of here, Owen said, almost to himself. Will you give me a body?

-_Only in dreams and death. In the land of the living, you will remain a ghost… but I believe I can make it so you can move of your own accord. It would be better than this, yes?—_

That's not that hard mate, Owen drawled, and if he could have, he would have grinned. What the hell, he thought, or maybe he said it, or both. Better than boredom for all of eternity, and at least this way I can strangle Jack myself. Good. Okay, then. Get me the hell outta here!

Soft laughter and the room faded to white.

.

* * *

.

He came to himself in a place that wasn't a place. There was no darkness, but there wasn't really anything else, either. Owen blinked.

He caught his breath, and blinked again. Bodily functions, he thought with glee, and looked down.

He had a chest and a waist and legs and feet. He was wearing clothes – dark trousers and his leather jacket. He lifted up his hand. It was wrapped in gauze; a few months ago he'd slashed it with a scalpel, and it had never healed because he was dead. He'd wrapped it so it didn't decay or get worse; it would suck to be walking-dead for eternity but have no hand because he was an idiot. Now, when he carefully unwrapped it, he grinned to see the slash in his palm had healed.

"Brilliant," he said, and his voice echoed. "Brill-i-ant," he said again, just to hear the sound and feel it roll off his tongue. He could feel again!

"And who do you think you are?"

Owen spun.

"What the fuck?" he asked.

The flower floated serenely in the nothing, brightly colored and giving the impression of faint confusion. It was yellow and it was talking. If Owen cared, he might have identified it as a daffodil, but he didn't really give a damn. He was busy wondering where the hell it had come from.

"And who," the flower repeated, speaking slowly as though Owen were very dim, "Do you think you are?"

Right, Owen thought. Because talking flowers were perfectly normal. Wasn't he supposed to get peace with death? Because he didn't know what this was, but it certainly wasn't peace. It was more like tripping on acid, without the high that made it worthwhile. "Who's asking?" Owen asked with a sneer.

The flower did a barrel roll in mid air and gave the impression of looking at him quizzically from upside-down. "Did somebody send you?" it asked in reply, blatantly ignoring Owen's question. Its voice was neither masculine nor feminine, and not particularly high or low; it didn't sound like a voice. It sounded like a flower.

Except flowers couldn't talk.

Oh, Owen thought, what the hell.

"A voice called Gainel sent me," he muttered, looking around. "Some world he's got here," he added scornfully. "It's like I've gone down a fucking rabbit hole. What is this place, anyway?"

"Gainel, really?" The flower—there was no other word for it—it lit up, like a delighted face, except it wasn't a face. It was a daffodil. "Oh, I haven't heard that name in _so_ long!"

"Yeah, you should have a reunion," Owen muttered. "You haven't told me where the hell I am."

The flower regarded him. "Nowhere," it replied mildly, "Everywhere. You appeared before me and I made you a place to be. You're—human, aren't you? Such a little tiny race." The flower floated towards Owen, hovering to look at him right side-up this time. Owen tried to bat it away, but it only floated back, laughing softly.

"Feisty," it giggled.

"And what the fuck are you?" Owen snapped.

"I'm God of Gods," the flower replied, not offended by Owen's harsh tone, flying in slow loop-the-loops. Owen thought that perhaps it was less like acid and more like he'd taken LSD. He wondered why it had affected him. He'd been dead for a few months, after all; drugs didn't alter the state of the dead. "Father of Fathers. The Thing from which Father Universe sprung."

"… And in English?" Owen drawled. The flower giggled again.

"The Time Lords called us Isolus," it said, righting itself and looking at him. If a bloody flower _could_ look at him. "But the Time Lords never were. Pity. Their planet made such music." The flower spun lazily and then flipped over. "Your planet isn't so bad, though. My little cousin got lost there, I think, in a few years." It paused. "Time, you know. It's very confusing."

"Ye-ah," Owen drawled. "Right, okay, so you're Isolus, Father of Fathers, God of Gods, whatever. What the hell does that have to do with me?"

"I don't know, Owen Harper," said the flower, swimming like a dolphin to come in front of his face, nose to—well, it had been a bloody long time since Owen had taken biology of plants, and he was damned if he knew what it was called off the top of his head. What it meant was that there were a lot of petals suddenly in his face. "Child of my children sent you here to me. I left that place so long ago. He must want me to let you in."

"Let me in _where_?" Owen demanded, unnerved that it knew his name.

"There's a pocket in the universe," the flower said offhandedly, arching away from Owen to do a somersault in the air. "I made it for the children, little lost things. So far from home."

"Okay. What the hell?" Owen asked, frustrated. He'd gotten over that the thing was a flower, but all these riddles were starting to annoy him. "Would you just speak in full fucking sentences?"

The flower looked at him sharply.

"You called them Four Five Six. I call them _childnappers_. Stole fifty children from your planet, long, long ago. You thought they came only once before; they had been there long before even that. There were three boys from a place… a place they called _Sparta_." The flower turned slowly in the air. "They fought back. Fourteen boys from _Roma_ and six girls from a kingdom called _Bryges._ Seven boys and girls from _Judea, _and four from _China. _Nine from _Carthage, _and six from _Phoenicia_." The flower pronounced the names of the cities very carefully, enunciating them oddly. It spun like a top, and Owen could see the outlines of the children, standing behind it, and the images moved, fighting off some horrible creature in the distant, hazy past.

"They took control of the ship," the flower continued, "But theirs was not a planet or a species made for travel off their little world, not yet. They killed the childnappers, but they did not know how to fly. I found them." The flower curled through the air like a serpent. "Pocketed them, kept them safe, gave them the Father Universe they all missed. Their ship ran out of support – I made them a planet to call home and gave them their gods."

"And… you can do that," Owen said slowly. He was a Torchwood operative—it was not so hard for him to imagine, but the amount of power that would take…

"I am Isolus," the flower shrugged, if a flower could shrug. "As children we migrate across the stars and play with those we love. I was still young but old enough to feel lonely, even as my brothers and sisters loved me. They were children, so little, and afraid. I pitied them."

"So… there's a world that you made, just out there." Owen waved a hand, unsure where the hell this was going.

"Yes. I grew older and wanted to see more stars, so I left them a Guardian to keep them safe. I go back and visit, sometimes. Their dreams are so pretty. I believe Gainel wishes for me to grant you access. One cannot enter without damaging the Gates unless I let you in." The flower flipped upside down. "Do you want to visit my world?"

"Do I have a choice?" Owen sneered.

"Always," the flower replied seriously. "Why did Gainel speak with you?"

Owen paused and regarded the daffodil suspiciously. "He said he needed an envoy, and being discorporated was bloody awful. So I agreed. God only knows why."

"An envoy. To whom?" the flower asked. It was circling his head like a shark now. Owen tried to bat it away, but it only danced, laughing.

"Jack fucking Harkness," Owen muttered and the flower froze midair.

"Ah," it said, suddenly serious. "Very well then. There's something you should know."

The world dissolved before Owen could say another word. "Hey!" he shouted indignantly. "I thought you said I had a damn choice!"

_-There is always a choice, little spitfire,- _replied a familiar, amused voice. Owen scowled.

He was standing on marble, he noticed, and he was—finally—somewhere that made a modicum of sense. He stomped his foot a little on the marble, testing it, enjoying the feel of something solid beneath his feet.

"My name is Owen," he said, looking up. "Use it, pl—ease." His voice, authoritative a moment before, faded on a squeak.

Yeah, so much for making a modicum of sense.

The sky above was an acid trip. Or something. One half was dark and scattered with stars, and the other was a bright blue sky at high noon. The line between them was not a clear line; like a horizon line, one side just ended, slammed up against the other.

_That makes no sense, _his brain told him flatly.

Right. Torchwood Operative. Making sense was overrated. He'd seen some pretty weird stuff, but this might just take the fucking cake.

—_This is no hallucination, Owen Harper, - _said the voice. _–Welcome to the Court of the Gods.—_

Owen blinked and looked around.

"God of the gods," he said flatly to no one in particular. "Right."

The marble court was crawling with gods. Owen knew they were gods. He wasn't sure how he knew they were gods, but he just did. They were on thrones, perched on the lips of fountains; animal gods crouched or sat or lounged. It was a massive pantheon, really, and there, standing before him, was a man in a long, battered coat.

"Gainel, I presume," Owen sneered.

_-You presume correctly,- _the man replied with an amused smile.

Owen crossed his arms. "Right," he said, "Good. What's the deal, then?"

"The deal," boomed a second voice, "Is that you speak with Harkness for my brother, and in return, he gives you the keys to Dream, and the Dark God allows you into his realm. Quite fair, if I say so." The man that strode forward was dark skinned, tall, and bare-chested. He held a golden spear, a shield with a stylized sun on his back.

"Put a shirt on," Owen told him succinctly. Next to him, Gainel chuckled.

"Mind your manners," growled the shirtless man. "I am Mithros, god of sun and shield, and the king of all gods here. Gainel is your patron, and also my brother. My other brother—" he held out an imperious hand. A god in a dark cowl rose with quiet grace from a throne and glided over.

Owen, once upon a time, had battled a personification of Death. It had been a being made from smoke and shadow and darkness, as well as a healthy dose of power and terror. This creature was different.

He was solid, which was a point in his favor, and vaguely masculine. There was no smoke and no terror, although there was shadow and power there. Instead of terror there was peace, and while Owen could not see the god's face, he could tell that the god's eyes were on him.

"Greetings and good health, Owen Harper," said the Dark God, voice colored with the barest hint of irony.

Owen did not like many people on sight. He judged harshly, and viewed most of the world with scorn.

He liked this Dark God.

"Yeah, you too," he said, but with less bite than usual. The god in the cowl chuckled.

"I am willing to do this bargain, brother," the Dark God told Gainel softly. "However I, too, want something out of the deal." He turned back to Owen.

"Haven't got much to give, mate," Owen drawled. "'Can't take it with you' and all that shit."

The Dark God chuckled. "No, you cannot, but I do not think you will mind this price, Owen Harper. I want you to bring me a story. My realms are of the dead, as should be obvious, however the stories of the dead do not change; they are static and lackluster, and they fade with time. You are not dead, not truly; you are barely more than a thought, which is something of a story in and of itself. I want you to bring the tale back to my realms. The dead do not dream, but I think, on occasion, that they should."

"Barely more than a thought my ass," Owen snapped. Mithros tensed, the Dark God gave the impression of raising his eyebrow and Gainel chuckled again.

"Spitfire indeed," the Dark God said. "Do you consent?"

"Yeah, alright," Owen muttered. "I'll tell you a bedtime story if you bloody well want."

"And in return, some peace for you. I imagine that you are very tired. Very well, brother; it is done." The Dark God bowed to Gainel and then to Mithros, before gliding back to his seat.

"You push your luck," Mithros growled. He looked to Gainel. "There is a vessel approaching our universe," he said, voice booming. "Have your messenger deliver the news to Harkness: we want them gone."

"What am I, a carrier pigeon?" Owen asked snidely. Gainel snapped his fingers and a scroll appeared. He handed it to Owen.

_-Yes. Off you go, spitfire.—_

"My name," Owen replied as the world started to fade and melt into a place that looked suspiciously like Torchwood three, "is Owen!"

No response. Owen looked around. "What the hell _happened_?" he asked, and then regretted it.

He was in Jack's mind and it was not a pretty place to be. Information straight from Jack slammed into his head; guilt and fury and _pain, _loneliness and memories, and Owen staggered a little under the strain of it. Even though he didn't need to, Owen breathed a little heavily.

Tosh was dead. Unexpected grief hit him like a tidal wave. Ianto was dead, and he was sorry to see the bastard go, despite his better judgment.

Jack was absolutely crushed. Owen could feel it. Ianto's death had hit him hard, as had something about Jack's grandson, something that Jack had locked away with such burning, self-loathing shame that even Owen, sitting in Jack's dreamscape, could not see it. And he'd—Jack had fucking _run away? _That was what he was doing in this weird damn pocket universe? He'd _run away from Earth?_

That was just bloody unacceptable, especially since Jack had _never_ let Owen run away from anything.

"Fucking hell," Owen muttered angrily, rubbing his temple. "I die, and the whole damn place goes to shit." He stalked across the wreckage in the Plass, walking through the mist of the morning looking for Jack.

Owen found him standing despondently next to a piece of rubble. The ever-present RAF coat—and Jack even wore the fucking thing in his mind, how deep did his damn hero complex _go?_—was patched and sad-looking in his dream, his shoulders slumped. His strong jaw line was tense as he clenched his teeth, looking out into the rubble. Even his hair flopped sadly in the damp, misty morning, and his blue eyes were utterly, utterly miserable.

"You're an idiot, Harkness," Owen growled harshly in greeting to hide how glad he was to see the sonovabitch. He stalked over to him.

Jack looked up and then hunched, glaring. "Owen. You're dead. Get the hell out of my dream. I won't stand for this!" His voice was venomous and nothing like it had been in life.

"No," Owen replied flatly, crossing his arms. This was just too fucking much. He'd had too much of a weird fucking day to back down now. "No, I won't. And don't go blaming that weirdo Gainel, either, this is me you're talking to. I owe him a favor."

"How the _hell _do you owe him a favor?" Jack demanded incredulously.

Owen smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He was not expecting Jack to deflate like an old balloon, but that's just what the man did, eyes dropping from Owen's face as though Jack could not bear to look at him. "What do you want?" he asked quietly, starting to turn away.

Owen wanted a lot of things, but the first thing that came to mind was the fact that Jack had run the fuck away.

"You ran away," he accused furiously, uncrossing his arms. "I can't _believe_ you ran away!" And he really couldn't—since when was Jack a coward? Jack damn Harkness, who went charging in head first, who never had a functional plan, who charmed his way out of every single fucking situation with a grin and a gun. He'd run away from the planet he pretended to love, the place Owen had given his life to defend. What the _hell_?

Jack stared at him as though someone had hit him over his thick head with a hockey stick.

"What would you like me to have done? Everyone died, Owen!" His blue eyes locked onto Owen's brown ones desperately, and he looked—god, he looked awful.

He also looked like he wanted to kiss Owen, and that wasn't going to fucking happen. In your dreams, Harkness, he thought sourly; he wasn't bloody Ianto. "Just because your precious fuck buddy—" Owen huffed, and Jack closed off so fast Owen was almost winded.

"Don't you dare start on that, you don't know the half of it," Jack snapped.

"Yeah, yeah," Owen muttered uncomfortably, feeling almost sorry he'd brought it up. He changed the subject; Owen did have a job to do. "Listen, Harkness. I'm doing old Gainel a favor here, since you don't want him tampering with your dreams."

"How did he find you?" Jack demanded incredulously. He shifted his weight a little, taking a half-step forward.

Owen waved a hand. "I'm not really alive and I'm not really dead," he explained, mostly quoting the dream god. "The stuff of dreams, Gainel said. Anyway, my body's gone. _You_ brought me back to life the first time, I think you should remember. I wasn't going anywhere, after that."

"You were eradiated," Jack said softly. "Tosh said you were trapped when the reactor went critical." He remembered, then, Owen thought sarcastically. Good.

"Yep. My body decomposed—that was fun, by the way—" sarcasm dripped from his voice, "but I was still hanging around, when it was over, only _this_ time I wasn't corporal." He scowled.

"Oh, Owen," Jack whispered, reaching out. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well, you should be." Owen shook Jack off in irritation. What was this, a fucking support group? Owen could see it now: _THE DEAD OF TORCHWOOD: COME TALK ABOUT YOUR PITIFUL LIVES._ That was a laugh.

"Gainel's offered me a place in this Black God's realm here," he explained, "in exchange for passing you messages. So here I am, passing you messages." He handed Jack the envelope that Gainel had given to him with a scowl. "Like a bloody pigeon."

Jack huffed a small laugh at his tone and took the envelope. As soon as his fingers touched the coarse paper, the landscape started to ripple.

"I'll be seeing you," Owen sneered, and everything went dark.

.

* * *

.

Then it went light again. He was standing in—was this a _pub? _

There were no flashing lights and the music came from a man with some kind of instrument in the corner, but there was no mistaking it; Owen was in a pub.

"Well, Owen Harper," said the man in the cowl sitting across the table from him. "What have you got for me?"

"Is this a _date_?" Owen sneered. "Don't I get a damn drink out of the deal? It's been almost half a year since I've had anything to drink."

The Dark God chuckled. "Yes," he said softly, waving a hand. "You get a drink." A glass of what looked wonderfully like beer appeared before Owen. "I believe you owe me a story, Harper."

"I went to see fucking Harkness and I gave him the letter," Owen snapped, before taking a long, very satisfying pull from the beer.

Taste buds. The dead of this place had _taste buds_.

He was in heaven. The Realms of the Dead were fucking heaven. He finished the glass in one gulp, and then wondered if he could get drunk. Could he have sex, too? That would be wonderful.

The Dark God gave the impression of rolling his eyes. "From the beginning, if you please," he said, although he sounded amused. "I want to hear about your life, Owen Harper."

"My life," Owen sneered. He looked into the darkness of the cowl, and felt an odd comfort.

He actually wanted to tell the story.

Go figure.

"My life," Owen repeated slowly, feeling peace wash over him at last, "was a life that was full of action and violence and work and wonder. Secrets and sex and love and heartbreak and death. My death. The death I survived—"

.

* * *

.

A/N: Earlier, in Guardian, Jack wonders why there are humans in Tortall. I thought I should answer that question… hence the whole bit with the Isolus. That had to fit in somewhere!

Please leave a review! :)


	12. Switch part 1

Right, so the time line of this story's a bit different. It takes place about two years after the end of the Scanran War in Tortall; the air force is expanding, and Jack and Ianto are starting to train cadets... but there are more stories on them later. It also takes place just after Cyberwoman in Torchwood, which is (roughly) the year 2006 on Earth.

Anyway, a story update: I'm not dead! I'm working on lots of little projects and trying to get a bigger story going although it's not really working. As of right now, I'm bogged down and having trouble re-writing parts of Squire. There are two possibilities; I suck it up or try to re-write the bit that I already have and you see the completed, longer story sometime next year, OR I stick with the little stories, and you get bits and fragments of the Scanran war in this series, scattered over the next few months. I feel like I can tell a more complete story in bits and fragments, if that makes sense, rather than trying to connect them all with one story line. Anyway, I'll throw it out there if anyone has an opinion: would you rather lots of one shots here, or a full story that might take longer? I'm starting to lean toward the one-shots myself; for the long run of Tales, that might actually be less confusing. Anyway, I'll stop babbling; here's the first part of SWITCH, which is a three-part story. And yes, it's been planned for a while; This story's referenced in the first chapter of Tales. You'll get more the day after tomorrow; it's finished, never fear!

**

* * *

Switch  
(or, That Fiasco With Numair)**

_

* * *

_

Ianto woke slowly, blearily. He was colder than he should have been, and there was more noise than necessary. He remembered—

The eight cadets sprawled out on the floor, his cheek on Jack's thigh as the other man spoke with a lilting cadence, a story about a ship tethered to a massive clock tower and a girl and a Doctor, gas mask zombies and a conman that had saved the day. Rikash had been snoring outside Ianto's window, and Jack's hand had been warm, stroking through Ianto's hair as he drifted off.

Now… Ianto took stock of what was wrong.

He was not on a couch with Jack. It was not summer in Tortall – he was on something hard and cold, in a cold room. Was he lying on concrete? There were no crickets in the distance, just the steady hum of… was that machinery? It had been so long, more than twelve years since he'd heard a noise like that. The engines of the aerodynes growled more than hummed, and Tortall was far, far too young for computers. The quiet, swirling colors in the back of his mind that were Rikash's thoughts were so faint as to be almost absent – so faint that he was starting to get a headache.

Ianto sat up.

He was—what the hell?

It looked like he was in the Archives, it looked like Torchwood, but that made no sense; Torchwood was thousands, millions of light-years away from Tortall. Millions of light-years, a Barrier and a Guardian-never mind that the place had exploded.

It was cold, too. Ianto shivered. And then a horrifying thought occurred to him. What if Jack was here, too? Here, and transformed by Shakith's curse?

"Jack?" He called, frightened. He stood, feeling wobbly. He wasn't wearing his air force coat; he'd taken it off that afternoon, long before the cadets had stormed Jack's room, demanding that story. Ianto had already been curled in Jack's lap with a book, enjoying the summer when they weren't teaching. He remembered smiling at the cadets, and Jack's delight at their entrance.

There were only eight of them – only eight had survived the grueling, work-intensive first two years of training – and they had become like a family. They had all, in fact, elected to stay in Corus at the end of the year. During summer Jack and Ianto weren't their Captains, or their teachers or even really persons of authority; they were friends, almost like family, and when the tenth bell sounded the cadets always piled into their rooms, wanting a story.

Silvia had wanted one about the Doctor. Ianto shivered in the cold of the room that looked like Torchwood Archive, and wondered about her. Were the cadets alright?

"Jack!" he called again. "Silvia? Rob? Kathy?" He swallowed. No answer. "Liam! Tina! Gil! Dan! Olivia! REPORT!"

Silence. Ianto shivered again. No cadets. "Jack?" he asked a third time, voice small. He felt for Rikash.

The Stormwing was all color in his mind, a faint string of thought like whisperings in another room. He was never obtrusive, and their connection was tenacious at best, but they could always, at least, know if the other was alright or if not, they could find each other.

Rikash was faded in his head, so quiet as to be almost invisible. Ianto's life depended upon the Stormwing; being so obviously far away hurt. His head pounded. Rikash wasn't here.

"Ianto! Didn't I send you home?"

Ianto wheeled around, startled. Jack Harkness was standing at the top of the stairs. This _was_ the Archives, he recognized in shock; there were the rickety stairs, and there were the shelves arranged in an impractical c shape around them. He was at Torchwood?

How was he at Torchwood? Ianto looked down. He was still wearing his breeches. Twelve years and a war in Tortall were not an improbable dream.

"How— Jack?" he asked, utterly bewildered. Then the alarm kicked in. "Jack!" He almost rushed to his lover, and then stopped short.

Jack was exactly the same. He was not changed. In fact, he wasn't even remotely changed; he was exactly as he was in Ianto's memory, wearing suspenders and Earth-clothes, not the tunic and breeches of Tortall. He was not wearing his coat, but Ianto would bet money that it did not yet have a rising phoenix painstakingly embroidered on the right lapel.

"What's the year?" Ianto demanded, sensing a pattern. "Jack, what's the year?"

Jack's eyebrows had risen to his hairline. "Two thousand six," he said slowly. "I take it you're not the Ianto I know and love, yeah?"

At the word _love_, Ianto suppressed a wince. That tone was sarcastic, and containing none of the warmth that it generally did.

Then the year sunk in. Two thousand six. _Shit._ "Month?" Ianto asked, strained.

"November," was the cold reply, and this time Ianto could not hide his wince. _Lisa._

"_Fuck,_" he whispered with feeling. Jack snorted.

"That's about the sum of it, yeah. Your turn." His voice was dark and commanding. Ianto sighed.

"After two thousand nine," he said dryly. "Um… say, Twenty-twenty three?" He added up the years. It was about three since Lisa before he died, twelve since he'd come to Tortall, and he threw two more in for luck, because who knew how long he'd been dead?

Jack whistled. "I see the fashion's changed," he said softly, but there was a dangerous, mistrustful edge to his voice. "Now, you have to prove to me you are who you look like you are."

Ianto scowled. "It's been a while," he said dryly. "I don't know if I remember all the access codes, but since it's November I think you know about Lisa."

"That seems like it should be good enough, but how do I know you're not a telepath?" Jack asked, voice still soft and suspicious, as he descended the stairs with his hand on his gun holster.

"Because eventually you'll tell me about the hand you keep in a jar in the Hub," Ianto answered immediately. And then, suddenly remembering, "And I think I'm supposed to tell you code three-seven-one-four."

It was a Time Agent thing Jack had told him once, when one of Numair's experiments had made time flow like molasses. Jack had been badly scared and had stolen Ianto away, as far from the mage's wing as he could, whispering all kinds of Time Traveler's code of conduct along the way. Then he'd practically locked Ianto in his room before racing back and giving poor, confused Numair a through scolding.

The version of Jack standing in front of Ianto raised his eyebrows. "Right, then. Presumably I told you that?"

"It's a really long story that I probably shouldn't tell you," Ianto said dryly. "But more importantly, where is my counterpart?"

.

* * *

.

Ianto was warm. He was warm and comfortable, and there was a thigh beneath his cheek and a hand softly stroking his hair, rubbing delicately behind his ear just the way he liked. He gave a little, happy murmur and snuggled closer to Lisa.

It had been a dream. A horrible, terrible dream, but he was awake now. Oh, thank god he was awake now.

And then it shattered when a confused, _male_ voice he knew and needed and hated asked drowsily, "Ianto? What happened to your clothes?"

Ianto was up like a shot.

He sat bolt upright, laid eyes on _Jack Harkness_ and gasped, nearly falling over himself to get away. His feet landed on some kind of carpet and he tripped over a body; yelping, he skittered back, ending up against a far wall.

"What the hell?" he demanded, reaching for his gun.

"Ianto!" the Captain cried, startled, and then his eyes narrowed in an alarmingly swift comprehension. "Oh," he whispered. "I'm going to _kill_ Numair."

"Cap—Captain Jones?" asked a small voice, and Ianto jumped a foot in the air, swinging his gun around to point between the eyes of—

A child? A little girl was staring at him with large dark eyes, which darted from his face to his gun in alarm. A wave of nausea swept through him, but he didn't lower his gun, despite his trembling hand. She might be an illusion.

"Ianto, stand down," the Captain's voice was sharp and commanding, but Ianto sent him a hysterical glance.

"Not until you tell me what's going on here!" he snapped, trying and failing to suppress the trembles that raced along his nerves.

"Captain—" that was a boy, facing him with palms held out and frightened blue eyes. "Captain, what are you doing?"

The room was filled with children, Ianto noted in that small, calm portion of his mind. There were eight of them. What the hell was going on?

"Robert of High Peak, back away," came Jack's authoritative voice. "Silvia Hatter, you too. All of you, get behind me, behind the couch. Quick as you can. Ianto, you need to calm down and tell me what year you're from."

"And why should I trust you?" Ianto spat, shaking. "How do I know this isn't—isn't some sick game you play before you wipe my memory!"

"Ianto, listen to me." Jack's voice was low. "You _need_ to tell me what year you're from. I think an accident might have brought you to your own future, god only knows how." Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Rikash," he breathed, and then, "Kathy!" he barked, turning to the children that had crowded around the back of the couch.

"Yes, sir?" a girl asked, standing up straight.

"Key's in the left drawer. Go to the adjoining room, and check on the Stormwing. Quickly!" he turned to Ianto. "She's going to go into that drawer. Let her, _please_." There was a strange urgency in his voice, and Ianto's eyes narrowed.

"And why should I?" he growled. "You've taken everything away from me—_everything_—and then expected me to work another day!"

Jack swallowed, visibly rattled. "Two thousand six," he whispered. "November. You just lost Lisa."

"Don't say her name, don't you _dare_—" Ianto gasped hysterically, shaking his gun. Tears welled in his eyes.

"Easy," Jack whispered helplessly. "Easy. Listen. Ianto, it's been about fifteen years since then. You're in your own future."

"I'd kill myself before I'd share a future with _you_," Ianto snarled. The dark eyed girl gave a little hiccoughing gasp.

"S'alright, Silvia," Captain Harkness said, sparing a glance at the children huddled behind him, all watching with wide eyes. "We've had—a rocky past?"

"_You killed my girlfriend!_" Ianto shouted furiously. "You made me watch while she was going to get fucking _eaten_, you monster!"

Jack swallowed. "Listen," he whispered. "We have to get you back to your proper time."

Ianto was shaking his head. "No," he said. "No, I don't want this future. I don't want any future—"

"_Jack!" _came an alarmed shout. There was a rattling in the next room. _"Jack Harkness, what in all the realms of Chaos have you done to my brother?" _

"Rikash," Jack whispered and then gave a deep, relieved sigh. "He's alive, thank every deity in this ridiculous pantheon."

"What—is—going—on?" Ianto growled, shaking.

"Listen to me, Ianto Jones," Jack said. "You are in your own future. You are no longer on Earth; Torchwood is a hundred million light-years away. This place is called Tortall; you've been a Captain here for twelve years. There was a war two years ago. These are our students." He gestured at the children huddled behind the couch. "We're teaching them to build aircrafts."

Ianto was shaking his head. "You're lying—"

"Stop it!" the dark eyed girl broke in passionately. Ianto stared at her, shocked. "Stop it, you love him!"

The girl's eyes were filling and she was shaking, as though the very foundation of her world was crumbling. Ianto wasn't one to make children cry, but if her world's foundation was some fucked up fantasy that he was in love with _Jack Harkness_, of all people, then it had to go.

"Silvia," Jack said before the rage in Ianto broke free. "Silvia, it's okay, really—"

"No it's not!" she shouted hysterically. "It's all wrong, he can't _hate_ you, he's Ianto, he's our Captain Jones—"

One of the boys, smaller than the rest, turned intelligent hazel eyes onto Ianto. "But you hated him before you loved him." He swallowed and then looked at Jack. "Captain, what's to become of us, if Ianto n-never—"

"Not another word out of you, Gillham Smithy," Jack said sharply. "This does not affect you; it is between me and him. At the very worst—" and here his voice broke, and Ianto got a jab of nasty satisfaction from the pain in that bastard's tone, "—I'll teach you on my own. You hear, Silvia? You're not marrying anyone, and you will never sew another button. Gil, you're not going back to Coldspeak. Rob – no mooching off your older brother, clear? You're all going to be fine."

"And me, _sir_?" Ianto growled, shaking. "What's to become of me?"

"We're going to send you back," Jack said slowly. "And then we're going to get _my_ Ianto back. Alright?"

"I will never be yours," Ianto spat, and the girl called Silvia gave a heartbroken sniffle.

.

* * *

.

"Gone," Jack said lowly, standing in Ianto's old flat. "He's gone."

Ianto crossed his arms uneasily, wishing briefly for the warmth of his coat, and that his head would stop pounding. "Wonderful," he mumbled. "Think we switched places?"

"The temporal readings would support that," Tosh put in, jabbing at a small device that beeped cheerfully and flashed blue light at her. "There were some strange fluctuations down in the archives; nothing much here, to be honest. There hasn't been a rift spike in the last three hours, either."

"It's Numair," Ianto muttered, rolling his eyes. Tosh puttering with a computerized device was strangely soothing; he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her. She never visited in dreams, as only Owen had that power, now that they were truly dead. The technology she held was a welcome sight, too. After having to build an engine from scratch and despairing of ever seeing Google again, it was nice to see something computerized.

"Who?" Gwen asked.

"Num—" Ianto interrupted himself, glancing at Jack. "Someone. In the future. He's kind of a mad scientist, and you probably shouldn't know his name."

"So let me get this straight," Owen drawled. "You got sent back to us, and our version of Ianto got sent forward."

"Seems like it," Ianto muttered, not liking his tone.

"Then why the hell do you still remember us?" Owen demanded. "We should've wiped your memory, after the stunt you pulled!"

Ianto went ridged. The day that Lisa was destroyed, for good, by Torchwood Three was not a happy memory.

"For me," he said lowly, controlling his temper, "That was over fifteen years ago. I've had some time to redeem myself. We need to contact my friends, although I don't know how we could."

"I could triangulate the signal," Tosh suggested with a feeble smile, ready to forgive, and Ianto felt a rush of warmth towards her. The grief soon followed – Tosh would die heroically, in a pool of her own blood on the floor of the autopsy bay, having just saved Cardiff from a nuclear holocaust.

"I don't know how well it would work," Ianto replied slowly, turning away so she couldn't see the grief on his face. He looked around his flat, wandered over to a table where a picture of his parents, sister, niece and nephew was sitting. He picked it up nostalgically. It had been a while since he'd seen their faces. "Where I live—it's complicated."

"How complicated?" Jack asked warily.

"Not Earth," Ianto replied dryly. "We'll say the rift took me, for simplicity's sake, although that's not really what happened."

"I don't want to know, and you shouldn't tell me," Jack agreed firmly. "You want to keep that?" he added, nodding to the picture. Ianto looked down at it again.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Shouldn't change the timeline – I never thought of it much."

"Do you want to stay?" Gwen asked gently, coming over to him. "We could—we could put him up somewhere," she added, looking at Jack. "Get his counterpart back and hide him out—"

"For the next twenty years?" Jack asked wryly. "No. He can't stay, even if he wanted to. The timelines wouldn't hold it. Time—is a very delicate thing."

"Paradox," Ianto put in helpfully, and Gwen looked at him oddly. "I also want to go back." He looked down at the picture. "It's good to see them again but…"

He thought about Silvia, with her wide dark eyes, needy Silvia Hatter who thought of Jack and Ianto as parents; she was more his daughter than she ever was to her real parents, who wanted to marry her off at twelve to some wealthy old tailor. He thought about Gillham Smithy, the son of two convicts, who had cried one night because the work of first year seemed too much, but he couldn't go back to the mines, he just couldn't, it wasn't fair. Jack had walked him through, and the boy had gotten by.

He thought of his own personal protégés, who were going to fly spydynes and work with him: frightened Rob, the fifth son of the Lord of High Peak, who would inherit nothing from his wealthy, land owning father and shy Kathy Merensdatter, the daughter of a poor shepherd who faced early marriage, like Silvia, if she could not fly. He thought of Olivia of Tirragan, brash and brave, Liam of Whitehorn, the prankster of the group, and Tina Mills, the daughter of a sailor who had once wanted to be a court lady, and now wanted to fly fighterdynes with Jack. He thought of odd little Dan who was still unsure of the kind of dyne he wanted. Ianto was starting to suspect that Dan, the son of a player, was a genius – the boy was going to have both, a silent fighterdyne, an assassin, the best Tortall would ever see.

He thought of Rikash and his sharp tongue, who insisted that they were brothers. Rikash, who was forbidden to flock with his Stone Tree nation, and instead flew with Ianto and Jack and called them family.

He thought about Jack with his desperate blue eyes, clinging to Ianto because he loved him, fully trusting his heart to another at last, because Ianto stood a chance of living forever.

His headache throbbed, as though for emphasis.

"But I have to go back," Ianto finished quietly. "I—have a family there. They need me." He looked up at Jack, this cold-eyed version of his lover, so alone.

Jack nodded slowly. "And we need to get our Ianto back so he can become you."

.

* * *

.

"Please stop pacing," the monster outside Ianto's window said, voice long suffering. "I already have a headache."

It was still morning and Ianto had holed himself in the room that was apparently his. It looked like his, too – Ianto could see his own taste in decoration despite the odd, twisting metal on the walls. The monster on the ledge outside the window was something he was diligently ignoring. This place was stuck in the middle ages, although apparently mythological creatures were _real_ here. The thing that looked like a male harpy outside Ianto's window was testament to that.

"I think I should be able to pace in my own home," Ianto growled, shaken and scared. There was a silence which sounded like someone rolling his eyes.

"Listen, pretty boy," the harpy said, sticking his head into the window so the things that looked horribly like bones braded in his long, braided blonde hair clicked against the sill. "What part of _I am not a cyberman_ do you find so difficult to understand? For flight's sake, you're impossible when you're young!"

_Taptaptap_.

"Captain Jones?" a timid voice spoke through the door of the room.

"You ought to answer that," said the monster dryly.

"Shut up!" Ianto snapped, glancing at the window fearfully.

"You're really irritating, you know," the monster murmured, but said nothing else.

_Taptaptap. _

"Captain?"

Ianto braced himself and walked to the door, and then wrenched it open. "What?" he asked, wide-eyed.

A boy and a girl were standing shoulder to shoulder. They were young, perhaps in their early teens, he gangly and awkward as though just at the beginning of a growth spurt and she standing with her arms crossed shyly across her front.

"We thought maybe you'd like to see the grounds, sir," said the boy uncertainly.

Ianto blinked.

"Captain Jack explained it to us, sir," the girl told him, eyes downcast. "That you're from the past, that you're young. So, um, my name's Kathy—this is Rob—we're you're students." Her eyes flicked up and then back down. "It's summer now, so there's no class—you don't have to worry about teaching us stuff you don't know yet—" her voice trailed and she smiled shyly at the floor. "But, I mean, we could show you the archives and stuff."

Ianto stared at her, unable to imagine it, and oddly touched. "You're—my students?"

"Yep," Rob said with a grin that was strangely desperate around the edges. "I mean, we're all your students, but Kathy and I already know we want to train with you when we start to build."

"Build?" Ianto asked, bemused.

"Aerodynes," Rob said. "You're our Captain. You fly a spydyne. You're training us."

Ianto continued to stare, although Jack had said something about that. "I—fly. I fly _what?_"

"We're the air force," Kathy explained. "It's an… an aircraft. You said you had them where you came from."

"Aeroplanes," Ianto said faintly, his shocked brain suddenly understanding. "I fly aeroplanes."

"We call them aerodynes, here. You said they don't really look like aer-o-planes," Rob said, pronouncing the unfamiliar word carefully.

Ianto gave a hysterical laugh. "I didn't even finish university!" he exclaimed. "I can't fly _aeroplanes_."

Kathy shrugged and looked up at him. "You will," she whispered. "You will and you'll teach us, but not yet. Don't worry." She smiled shyly. "We can teach you about things now, if—if you want."

"Go with them," said the monster out the window, and Ianto suppressed a shudder. "Don't stay inside on a day like this."

"I'll do what I like!" Ianto snapped, glaring at the creature.

"Would you like to come with us?" asked the boy, glancing uncertainly at the window.

Ianto wanted to refuse. He wanted to be defiant, to hole himself up in this room and hide from the world, hide from this planet and Lisa's death and Jack fucking Harkness and that creature on his window and everything he didn't know. But these children were looking at him hopefully, and it had been so long since someone other than Lisa had genuinely cared. Ianto took a breath.

"Yeah," he said, shoulders drooping in defeat. "I'll come with you."

They both smiled widely at him, faces beaming. "You'll like the Archives," the girl said enthusiastically. "You've always liked the Archives. Some of the books there are over three hundred years old!"

.

* * *

.

More soon-please drop a review :)


	13. Switch part 2

The Hub was the same.

Myfanwy screeched when Ianto followed the Torchwood team and he smiled to hear her, admiring the great, cavernous room as the cog door rolled back. Tortall had been home for twelve years, but this had been home first.

"And you say you don't have any idea how you got here," Jack was saying. Ianto sighed.

"I have a fair idea," he corrected dryly, following the Captain into the Hub. "But I doubt it's helpful, especially given that I'm not in the pocket universe anymore, and the laws of physics are different here."

"Care to share your fair idea with the class, or are you going to leave us wondering?" Owen asked sarcastically, and Ianto almost smiled. Alive and well, Owen was just as caustic as he was when he was dead. The medic did not look back; he made a beeline for his med bay and walked down the stairs.

"Not really," Ianto replied. "It has to do with the laws in the other universe. You can sort of—" he gestured helplessly with a hand. Talking about the Gift here was not exactly the best idea. "Manipulate the surroundings," he finished weakly. "Or, at least my friend can. Like I said, he's a bit of a mad scientist. This is probably one of his experiments gone wrong."

"You say that like it happens often," Gwen smiled.

"It does," Ianto said wryly. "I'm pretty confident that he'll fix it."

"—Or make it worse," came Owen's dry voice from the autopsy room. "Anyone care to tell me why there's a horse next to my autopsy table?" There was a familiar squeal, higher in register than Red's.

"Anwen?" Ianto demanded incredulously, striding past a very bemused Jack.

Sure enough, his alarmed chestnut mare was standing with locked knees, staring at Owen as though he would eat her.

Today just kept on getting stranger, Ianto thought with an internal sigh. He'd not imagined this at all when he fell asleep in Jack's lap the night before.

"You have a horse," Owen muttered, watching the animal warily. "Of course you have a bloody horse."

"Always liked a man with a mighty steed," Jack quipped and Ianto rolled his eyes, walking down the stairs to his poor, very frightened mare. His head pounded.

"It's alright, love," he told her, and one brown eye rolled hysterically to him. "You're alright."

She started, as though suddenly catching a whiff of his scent and practically fell over herself trying to get to him. Ianto laughed even as her soft nose knocked the wind out of him, slamming into his chest with enough force to propel him backward. "Easy!" he gasped and she snorted, pressing in close. "Easy. You're alright. You're fine. I'm going to kill Numair." He reached up and scratched her ear. "C'mon, love, you're fine. Daine said you'd follow me anywhere, but this is a little ridiculous," he scolded gently. Anwen nickered with relief, still crowding close.

"And _why _do you have a horse?" Jack asked from up above. Anwen, much smarter through an association with Daine, looked up at him in surprise.

"The wonders of time travel," Ianto told her dryly. He turned back to Jack. "Because that's the best way to get around back at—well, back at home." Anwen snorted, looking back down at Ianto. He smiled and patted her cheek. "And she's a good friend, too. This is before he even knew Red," Ianto explained to Anwen in a low voice. "He hasn't ridden in years."

Anwen sighed, looking annoyed. "Tell me about it," Ianto muttered, agreeing with the sentiment. He turned back to the Torchwood team, standing around the med bay with bemused looks on their faces. "The animals there are much smarter than they look," he told them. "Anwen can understand more than you think."

"You're kidding," Gwen said. Anwen spared her an irritable glance.

"Ask her a question if you don't believe me," Ianto shrugged. "Yes or no. She'll nod or shake her head."

"Do you know where you are?" Tosh asked almost immediately. Anwen looked at her, swung her head to Jack and then looked at Ianto.

"He made the whole damn thing up," Owen accused.

Anwen snorted and shook her head vehemently before stomping a foot.

"That doesn't necessarily mean she understands," Gwen started, but then Anwen huffed and drew her hoof along the tile.

_T_, she wrote. "T for Torchwood," Ianto said proudly, gesturing. He rested a hand on her neck, scratching gently.

"You're joking!" cried Gwen delightedly, peering over the railing. "Look at that!"

"Are you sure she's a horse?" Jack asked. "She might—"

"Absolutely positive," Ianto interrupted and Jack blinked. The Ianto of old would have never broken in, Ianto realized belatedly. Too late. "I told you. Most of the animals are like that. It has to do with the weird laws there. Anwen's spent a long time around people; she's learned the language. She's not stupid." His mare huffed appreciatively at him and Ianto suppressed a smile.

"Okay, this is great and everything, but what are we going to do with a bloody horse?" Owen snapped. "She can't stay in the med bay."

"She's going to learn stairs and she's going to learn them quickly," Ianto said dryly. "And if Myfanwy lays a single claw on her I will be very put out. Don't look up," he added to the chestnut. She snorted at him and Ianto rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that, you're the biggest coward I know. Okay. Up you get." He walked backward up the steps, and the mare followed clumsily. "You're not allowed to panic, and you're not allowed to bolt. You've heard enough about Torchwood and my world to know what to expect. There are loud noises and weird predators. Nothing worse than a spidrin, okay? And I won't let anything hurt you, just trust me."

She huffed a little but followed, hooves clacking up the stairs. Anwen slipped once but caught herself, following Ianto bravely up to the main Hub.

"I'm afraid I don't have a carrot," he told her wryly, and she bit his arm, gently.

"I can't believe you have a _horse_," Tosh exclaimed, looking like a little girl with her wide eyes. Ianto suppressed a smile.

"I have an aerodyne, too," he muttered, but it was low enough that only Anwen heard.

.

* * *

.

"_Numair Samalin, you are going to bring him back!_" Jack's voice thundered down the hall. Ianto jumped, and Kathy and Rob tittered nervously to each other.

"It's alright," Rob said doubtfully.

"If he kills Numair, the wildmage will have his head," Kathy added with false brightness. Ianto found himself chuckling weakly anyway.

They knew him, these two strange teenagers, he realized. It was utterly bizarre. They knew exactly what he needed – they took him straight to the history section of the Archives in the library of what was apparently a palace and began to tell him about where he was. They cracked jokes and tried to play, all hopeful smiles, trying to help. They reassured him in little ways; they brought him back books and answered questions before he even asked them. He liked them, Ianto thought, mind whirling. He honestly liked them.

They could not have been older than fifteen. Yet it was weird to be on the receiving ends of the looks they gave him, like a child trying to please a parent. Ianto was only twenty three and his only experience with children was being awkward around his niece and nephew. It was odd that these two were not even ten years younger than him.

"Who's Numair?" he asked hesitantly and the two exchanged a look.

"He's a friend of yours, or he will be," Rob replied. "He's, um, you call him a mad scientist." The boy shrugged.

"A mad scientist?"

"Every time something goes weird," Kathy continued, "You and Captain Harkness blame him. Our classroom is in the mage's wing, you see." She smiled a little.

"Jack, I had no idea, honestly—" came another voice, a light tenor, sounding much closer. "You mean he switched places temporally? He actually traveled in—"

"You will reverse it, or I swear I will throw you into the GC's engines and use you for fuel," Jack's voice snarled. Ianto and the two children turned.

There was a very tall man backing up slowly down the aisle, palms held out in a placating gesture. Jack was not by any means short, but he was positively dwarfed by the stranger. Nevertheless, he stalked up to him, like a wolf cornering a particularly willowy deer.

"You do realize that that would be inadvisable," came the distracted response.

"_Numair,_" Jack warned, and the tall man sighed.

"Look, Jack, I've already got the reversal going, alright?" the man said, suddenly serious. "I didn't anticipate that this would happen; I'm sorry. This is the last time I'll ever ask Ianto for one of Rikash's feathers. I need a day or so to get it working, but it'll be fine, okay?"

"They'll switch back," Jack repeated, sounding furious.

"They will switch back," the man called Numair reassured slowly. "But it would help me if you could just answer some questions, alright?"

"I'll answer them after my Ianto comes—Ianto," he interrupted himself, peering around the man at Ianto.

"Captain," Ianto said stiffly. Kathy and Rob shifted their weight uneasily beside him.

"Oh dear," said the man called Numair, turning to look at Ianto with wide eyes.

"So I take it I have you to blame for this?" Ianto asked quietly. The tall man's swarthy skin paled.

"Oh, Ianto, I'm so sorry," he said softly and then rounded on Jack. "Granted," he said, voice low and angry, "I've never been to Torchwood, but I've known you and Ianto for at least twelve years and I have _never_," this was emphasized by a strange rippling of the space around him, like air above hot tarmac, "seen a look like that on that man's face. What in Shakith's name does that place _do_ to people?"

"Do not even go there, Numair Salmalin," Jack growled. "You just pulled Ianto from something remarkably traumatic and—"

"Alright, that's enough!" Ianto snapped, fury suddenly biting at him. "I'm standing right here. Torchwood destroys people, for your information," he threw to Numair, "but at least there I'm in my own wretched time!"

"We will get you back there, Ianto," Jack tried but Ianto saw red.

"And what if I don't want to go back, _sir_?" he spat the last word. It was both truth and lie – back there was a nightmare and he didn't ever want to be there again, but he certainly did not want to be here, either, even if there were kind people. Ianto was confused and hurting, and lashing out at Jack seemed like a good idea, if only because he got a vicious satisfaction from the pain in the other man's eyes.

"Well, that's too damn bad," Jack snarled, firing up. He stalked past Numair and crowded close to Ianto, aggressively forcing the startled young man back up against the bookshelves. "You're going back," he hissed. "Is that clear?"

He smelled really, really good and Ianto hated him for it. "Yes sir," he whispered, furious and frightened. It had not been long since this same man had held a gun to his head and ordered him to kill his own girlfriend.

"Good," Jack spat, and whirled, coattails flying, before stalking out. Numair stared after him, shocked, and then turned to Ianto.

"Are you alright?" asked the tall man, looking concerned. "I've never seen Jack fly off the handle like that, especially at you."

"You can't have known him long, then," Ianto said bitterly.

"The better part of twelve years, I'm afraid," Numair replied. "I really am sorry."

"So am I," Ianto muttered and turned to the two children watching him wide eyed. "Is there anywhere I could go for a walk?"

.

* * *

.

Anwen was not amused.

Frankly, Ianto wasn't either.

His chestnut mare was standing lock-kneed in the middle of the Hub staring around with wide eyes. Tosh had procured a rope from somewhere and Ianto managed to tie a weird sort of halter around his mare's head, although she was quite displeased about it.

"It's only temporary," Ianto assured her.

Anwen gave him a look that articulated quite clearly that Ianto's life would only be temporary if they did not get out of here soon.

"I'm still getting normal readings, Jack," Tosh was saying, tapping away at her computer. Somewhere, Myfanwy screamed, irritating Ianto's already pounding head. Anwen tensed anxiously.

"You're fine," Ianto assured her and then looked back at Tosh. "Can you scan for—" his voice faded.

He and Jack had called it weird energy, almost as a joke because for the life of them neither could figure out how to define the Gift without using inane words like _magic_. The dynes ran off it, it was true, but they just called it weird power, converted from weird energy. There was no way Tosh would know what he was talking about, as there was no weird energy here.

"Scan for what?" Jack asked sharply.

Ianto sighed and rested a frustrated hand on Anwen's nose. His horse nickered a little. At least she was here, he thought to himself. "You won't have heard of it; we made up the name a few years ago. It's—" he frowned down at his hands, thinking.

Did his Gift even work here? He doubted it. Still, no harm in trying. _Light, _he thought, staring at his palm and reaching inside himself for that place, the core of blue and white-hot power which Numair had shown him once upon a time.

Nothing. He reached harder and his head pounded.

"Ianto?" Gwen asked.

Ianto scowled and took a breath. He touched his life force very carefully, remembering all of Numair's warnings about why this was a terrible idea.

The light that guttered in his hand was weak and it took so much effort that Ianto swayed. The pain in his temples sharpened, piercing, and he gasped. The Torchwood team stared at his palm.

"Scan for that," Ianto panted, his vision going blurry as blood leaked from his ears. "It's called weird energy. It's a mark of—of home. Look for it."

So much effort for such a small light. How strange to be home, Ianto thought with irony, and then toppled over, exhausted.

.

* * *

.

"You wouldn't've let him do that, you know," Kathy murmured as they walked down the lawn.

Ianto gritted his teeth. The two children still hadn't left his side. They'd lead him out of the castle and down to what looked like stables, although for the life of him he did not know why they would think he would want to see a bunch of horses. Ianto rather liked animals—he'd been close to being quite fond of that fucking pterodactyl, before it had tried to eat Lisa. Even still, he'd never met a horse before, and he was unsure why they would think he would want to see one.

"What?" Ianto asked, glancing down at the girl.

"Captain Harkness," she whispered, looking at her feet. "You never would have let him do that. Our you, I mean."

"_Kathy_," scolded Rob, and the girl bit her lip.

Ianto didn't stop walking. "He killed my girlfriend," he stated flatly, after a moment.

"We know," Rob whispered. "Lisa. You almost named your dyne after her. I wanted to name mine after her—for you—but you wouldn't let me."

Ianto stopped in his tracks and stared at the boy incredulously. Dyne. Aerodynes, aeroplanes. That must be what he meant. "You don't have an aeroplane," he managed through his choking throat.

The boy gave a one shouldered shrug. "But I will, one day."

"I—I told you about her," Ianto whispered, unable to believe it. No, he thought faintly. You couldn't name a machine after a woman who had been turned into a machine. That just wasn't right. What was right was that these children knew about Lisa, even fifteen years after she had died. That was comforting, somehow. "What did I tell you?"

"That she was beautiful and brave and killed by monsters," Kathy said succinctly. "And that every time you saw one of those Scanran killing machines in the war, you saw the thing that killed her, and that's why you hate them."

Ianto swallowed. He would have wondered about Scanran killing machines and the war that she mentioned, if he were not so overwhelmed by emotion. "She _was_ beautiful and brave," he managed.

"Tell us more?" Kathy asked shyly.

Ianto was not a talkative person. He was not, by nature, one to share his heart, especially to someone he barely knew. But these children knew him, and they loved him and somehow that made him feel safe. Haltingly, he began to speak.

He told them about how they met in the cafeteria at Torchwood one, how he'd been so shy he'd stuttered when he asked her out for coffee. He told them about camping and hating it, about traveling and loving it, and by the time he started talking about the engagement ring that he still had tucked in his pocket, they'd reached the stables.

Ianto's voice died in his throat.

Jack Harkness was sitting in a grassy paddock, cross legged, with a massive gray and white horse curled around him. The Captain had his hands resting between the horse's ears and his head bowed, speaking quietly to the animal.

"Maybe we should go," Rob muttered, and Jack looked up.

The horse looked up as well and the response was immediate. It heaved itself to its feet with such speed that the Captain almost fell backwards, and with its ears flat back against its skull it raced to the fence. When it pitched to a halt, the animal threw its head angrily over the top plank of wood and bared its teeth, staring Ianto dead in the eye.

"Red!" Jack scolded, rising as well. "Red, enough." The horse turned its head and huffed aggressively. Jack looked at Ianto steadily for a long moment before turning to Kathy and Rob. "Anwen's gone missing," he said flatly, cupping the horse's dark gray chin with his palm. "You won't find her here. Stefan thinks she followed Ianto. Our Ianto." The horse nuzzled his hand and Jack turned his eyes away from the children, focusing on the gray and white animal.

"Anwen," Ianto repeated. It was a Welsh name, one which he knew meant _beautiful_, although he couldn't remember where he'd learned it.

"Your horse," Rob said, voice small. "She's your horse."

"The animals here," Jack put in, still not meeting Ianto's eyes, "They're strange. Really smart." He scratched the horse's cheek. The animal huffed and snorted, pushing its nose against Jack's shoulder. It glared at Ianto.

"You have a white horse," Ianto managed. "Named Red."

"I didn't name him," Jack muttered.

"_I _have a horse," Ianto said slowly.

"A chestnut mare," Kathy said with a smile. "She's beautiful."

"Hence the name," Ianto muttered, staring into the eyes of the horse that was pressed close to Jack.

On second thought, the horse wasn't just white. Its nose was dark gray, for one, and its mane and tail were darker than the rest of the animal's fur. Its hide had small amounts of gray, blending with the white to make faint c shapes on its hindquarters. The animal was glaring at him from Jack's shoulder, a look that was unmistakably hostile. Jack sighed.

"I'm sure Numair wouldn't mind if you took out Spots," he said. "Take him around the paddock, you two. I think Red needs a run. I've already told Daine about Anwen."

The horse huffed indignantly and Jack smiled before clambering onto its back. "Hush," he murmured, and rode the big animal away without a saddle or bridle.

"I can't ride," Ianto said dryly, watching the horse pick up speed as it walked and then ran away, Jack sitting smoothly on its back.

"That's okay," said Kathy. "Spots is really nice, and he's really old so he can't do much. Master Salmalin can't ride, either. Come on." She tugged gently on his sleeve. At a loss, Ianto followed.

On the other side of the paddock, Jack stopped Red and slid off his back. He slipped an arm around his gelding's neck and buried his face in the soft gray withers of the aging horse. Red nickered softly in concern and Jack suppressed a sob.

* * *

.

Fun fact about gray horses - as they get older, their fur starts to get paler, so they look white. At this point, Red looks more white than gray. The term for a white horse is actually "gray," but while Jack knows that through association with Daine, Ianto doesn't. -shrugs- Anyway, last part should be up either tomorrow or the next day, depending on when I have time. Please drop a review :)


	14. Switch part 3

Ianto woke to a soft bed, warm blankets, and a headache that had worsened. He felt like Anwen had kicked him, or Rikash had fallen out of a tree. He was confused and alone, so he blinked blearily and carefully sat up.

"Jack?" he asked, rubbing his temple.

There was a snort and he turned and stared.

He was in a little stone room, one of many that were housed in the depths of the Torchwood vaults. It was brightly and cheerfully lit by a small lamp in a corner, and there was a rug on the floor. Anwen was standing hunched and cramped in a corner, watching him with wide eyes.

"What the hell?" Ianto asked her, very slowly. She snorted again, agreeing.

"We tried to take her away," Gwen's voice said. Anwen's ears flattened against her skull and Gwen edged in the door, eyeing the mare nervously. "And she bit and kicked us. We almost had to sedate her."

"She doesn't leave my side," Ianto told Gwen. His voice brooked no argument.

"Yeah, we kind of figured that. Are you okay?" She sat on his bed, still watching the horse warily. Anwen watched her mistrustfully right back, clopping over the stone floor to snuffle at Ianto's face.

"Fine—Anwen!" Ianto admonished, shoving the large nose away from his eyes. "Enough. I'm fine."

The chestnut wasn't buying it. She stared at him.

"What did you do?" Gwen asked quietly. "Tosh has figured out a way to measure the residue of that—that light you made. She said it was energy?"

"It is. It's—a mark of home."

"You can tell me," Gwen smiled. "Jack says we're all going to have to take Retcon anyway."

Ianto sighed, but he supposed with the assurance that everyone would have their memory removed with the pills anyway, he might as well tell her. "Tortall," he said slowly, reaching up a hand to pat Anwen's cheek reassuringly, "is in a pocket universe. It has its own laws of physics. What I did – normally that would take no effort, but here I had to use my life force, which is why I passed out."

"But what did you do?" Gwen asked.

"I produced light," Ianto told her. "I can't do much; I can do light, a little bit of telekinesis – nothing big, mind, but I can close doors and open them and lift things. I can power an engine if I want to be sick for days, and I can make fire." He shrugged with one shoulder and wished his head would stop hurting. It was starting to be hard to think.

"Telekinesis? Ianto, you couldn't do this before," Gwen said, shocked.

"No," Ianto replied and rubbed his temple. "It's that place. It does weird things. It's—" It's being bonded to Rikash, he wanted to say, but that would require too much of an explanation. "There they call it the Gift. Some people have it, some don't. I have it. Jack—my Jack—doesn't. Some people are strong; my friend, the one who switched me—he's really powerful. He can lift boulders without touching them and open the earth. I light candles." He shrugged again.

"And that's what sent you here," Gwen deduced. Ianto nodded.

"If Tosh can find the signal, she might be able to contact Numair and send me back."

.

* * *

.

"Ianto! Ianto Jones!"

Ianto looked up wildly, not expecting to hear his name. Sunlight flashed in his eyes; the metal harpy from his window flapped frantically before touching down in front of him.

"What do you want?" Ianto demanded uncomfortably. Kathy spared him an anxious look.

She and Rob had led him away from the stables when he refused to ride. They were just walking. It was pleasant enough, if slightly awkward, as all Ianto really wanted was to be alone and confused for a while.

"You're so _crabby,_" the metal creature complained. "Longshanks—sorry, Numair—he's found away to send you back. Apparently your Tosh Sato is quite the genius." He grinned, as though at a private joke.

"Tosh Sato?" breathed Rob. "The real live Tosh Sato?"

Ianto spared him an odd look.

"The real one," Rikash told the boy with a smirk. "Gwen Cooper's there, too, and Owen Harper. And a _much_ younger version of the other Captain."

The two children shared a delighted grin, but Ianto felt his stomach sink. He was going home, and while home was good – he most certainly did not want to be here – home meant Torchwood, memory loss, or death. Or all three. One never knew. He certainly wanted to die.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, resigned. Kathy gave him a concerned look.

"Walk across the breech," the metal monster chirped. "Walk across, and our Ianto walks back. Gods only know how the horse got there, but Anwen should come back, too. Come along, then. I'll see you in Master Mage's rooms; he's drawn up the spell." The thing grinned like a shark and leaped in the air, metal wings clashing as it flew away.

"This is good though, right?" Kathy asked softly. "You can go home."

"It'll get better, Ianto," Rob whispered. "Really. And in a few years' time, you'll meet us." He smiled.

Ianto looked down at their hopeful faces. "They'll wipe my memories," he said softly, darkly. "That world isn't a good one."

Kathy took his hand gently and tugged, leading him back up the hill. "They will," she agreed. "But only because they have to."

* * *

"It's the horse," Tosh said excitedly, tapping away at her computer. "I can use her to find your pocket universe—she's got a signal too, like your weird energy, only it's different, it's—"

"Wild energy," Ianto said dryly, resting a hand on the back of Tosh's seat. Anwen was crowding in close to him. "I know about that one, too."

"The physics of that place must be _strange,_" Tosh said cheerfully, happily typing away at her computer and solving her puzzle. "I'm getting such odd readings."

"Can you use them, though?" Jack asked, standing a careful distance from Anwen and her flattened ears. Ianto suppressed a grin. Younger-Jack was much different from the grinning Jack Anwen knew and she had little patience for this version. Ianto privately found this to be extremely amusing.

His much-loved horse was right, though – younger-Jack was all sharp edges and that showy smile, too much cheer and not enough substance. His mask was miles thick; Ianto could see it clearly. Having known the real Jack (Danny Walker, Colla Ruff, whatever he wanted to call himself – even Jack had trouble remembering his real name), he could spot the acting a mile off. He was tired of the false smile and rather missed the soft one his Jack would give him, the real one Jack offered without realizing it, the one only for Ianto.

"Of course I can use it," Tosh replied, affronted. "I can take the readings from Ianto, the readings from the horse and the readings from hole he fell through in the archives and open a split. Oh—" she cut herself off, typing frantically. "Hold on—"

A voice, one that Ianto knew. "Ianto?" It was faint and whispery.

"What was that?" Gwen asked.

"Numair!" Ianto cried, looking around wildly. The pain in his head spiked with the sudden movement, but he ignored it. Anwen squealed.

"Ianto!" Numair's voice said again, stronger. "Oh, thank Mithros, Jack's been worried _sick_."

Owen raised his eyebrows at Jack who shrugged. "Not me," he said.

"… Jack?" Numair asked incredulously.

"I've switched times," Ianto explained. "I'm back in Torchwood."

"Yes, I thought so. One moment, please—is your Tosh there?"

"Yes?" Tosh asked, confused. "Have we met?"

Numair's voice warmed. "We will—sort of. Not the point. You've calibrated your com-pu-ter to use the signals from Ianto and Anwen to open up a passageway, right? Or, rather, can you? I sent them there utterly by accident—I needed the Stormwing feather, you see, but Ianto must have stored it in Anwen's saddlebag, where it came in contact with her hair and they both got all mixed up and Jack told me not to meddle with time but I just wanted to make a better clock—"

"Master Salmalin!" Ianto scolded, and Numair laughed.

"It is good to hear your voice again, Ianto. Well, Tosh? Are you up to it?"

"Always." She tapped away at the computer.

"Numair, did you say your name was?" Jack asked. "Do you have _our_ Ianto?"

"Yes, we do, Jack," Numair replied easily. "I just sent Rikash to get him."

"Who?" Gwen muttered.

"Rikash!" Ianto gasped, relief flooding him. "Is he alright? I've had a headache since I got here; I'm not sure what that means—"

"You've been separated when you shouldn't be," Numair's voice said evenly. "He's been having headaches, too, and if you don't mind my saying, Ianto, younger-you is decidedly unfriendly."

"Yeah, well, he hid his cyber-girlfriend in our basement," Owen interjected sourly. "Imagine how we feel about him."

"Sympathetic, Owen Harper," Numair replied sharply and Ianto was impressed that the absent minded mage recognized the voice. "You should be sympathetic."

Owen snarled. "And who the hell are you to tell me—"

"There!_" _ Tosh said triumphantly, hitting the spacebar. "There's a rift spike opening up… in the archives?"

"One second, one second," Numair muttered. "There we go. Where are you?"

"That's where Ianto showed up," Jack proclaimed, clapping Ianto on the back. "Time to go home, and get our Ianto back. Tosh, stay on comm.; we're heading down to the archives."

.

* * *

.

Ianto followed the two children and the metal monster up the hill once again. The creature swooped ahead of them, dipping to turn on a wingtip and fly higher above the great castle that rose on the hillside.

It was hard to imagine himself living here, Ianto thought gloomily. He did not think about Lisa.

"It'll be alright, Ianto," Kathy told him softly at his elbow. "Captain Harkness will set it right."

Ianto gritted his teeth. He didn't want Jack to set it right—setting it right involved little white pills and the loss of most of his life. The loss of the memory of Lisa.

They reached the castle gates and he followed the two children inside in silence. They lead him through the winding passageways and up a grand flight of stairs. At the landing, the other six children were waiting. Ianto didn't know their names.

"Captain," said the smallest, and the six of them clicked their heels together and saluted.

"We'll see you on the other side, sir," added another with a mischievous grin.

"Now now, Whitehorn," Rob scolded softly from Ianto's elbow.

The dark eyed girl called Silvia watched them silently as they walked by. Ianto felt her eyes on him.

They reached a room marked _Numair Salmalin and Veralidaine Sarrasri _on the open door. Jack was leaning in the threshold. When he saw Ianto, he turned around, eyes cold.

"He's here, Numair," he said.

The tall man rushed into the room. "Ianto! Good. Jack, I've set up a gate—other-you says they have our Ianto, by the way, and he's in fine shape," Numair assured the Captain, who looked relieved.

"Good. We'll get him back. Ianto?" he asked, turning again. His eyes were flat and cold, and Ianto wanted to take a step back, but he didn't."Sir?" he said instead, politely.

"Ready to go home?" Jack asked.

"Yes," Ianto lied quietly.

"It was fun to see you younger, sir," Kathy whispered behind him.

"Mithros guard your journey home," added Rob.

"Let's not invoke the gods right now, kids," Jack told them with a smile that was so obviously feigned that even Numair, who seemed mostly oblivious, winced.

Ianto sighed and stepped into the room. "What do I have to do?"

.

* * *

.

Rift storms, Ianto knew from experience, tended to be bronze light that flashed or curled or twined into existence, giving or taking something or someone away. As he followed Jack into the archives with Anwen clopping loudly behind him, he became aware of that light shot through with a strange, glittering dark one that cast shadows on the walls. It took him a moment to recognize that it was Numair's Gift.

The bronze and black line split and bowed out before his eyes, and as Anwen stumbled down the stairs an image formed clearly between the triangle of light that developed. Master Numair Salmalin was standing in the gateway, holding some kind of crystal in one hand and painting glowing runes into thin air with the other. Anwen whinnied and he looked up. He kept on chanting, but he smiled in greeting.

"So I just walk through?" Ianto asked younger-Jack, holding Anwen's makeshift halter. Numair's chanting came to an end.

"You need to walk through at the same time as your counterpart," the mage explained. "And quickly; we haven't much time. Jack?" He looked over his shoulder.

"Do you have Ianto?" came an anxious voice from out of the image. "You said I shouldn't get too close."

"Is that me?" younger-Jack asked, sounding intrigued.

"Yep! This is fun, right?" came the cheerful reply from his older self.

"Alright, _before_ we start discussing the endless possibilities, I'd rather like to go home. Where's my counterpart?" Ianto asked Numair.

"Just here," said the voice of Ianto's Jack, and a very familiar face walked to stand next to Numair.

"I just walk through?" asked younger-Ianto softly. He blinked at his older self. "Hello," he said quietly, meeting his own eyes.

He looked—shattered, Ianto thought. His younger self looked shattered. He remembered feeling like that, like the world had ended, like there would be no light ever again, only darkness. He remembered his confusing hatred and attraction to Jack, and he remembered his own humiliation and abject misery and loneliness.

What is there, he thought suddenly, if you cannot look back at yourself and forgive? What is the point of it all, if there is no understanding even in your own heart?

"It gets better," he told his younger self on an impulse, standing on the wrong side of the past, "Really, it does. It's going to be alright."

In the future, his younger self swallowed. "Does it?" he asked quietly, desperately. "Does it really?"

"Yes," Ianto replied fiercely. "Yes. It's better. I know—it feels like nothing's ever going to be the same again, and it won't be. But it's going to be okay."

His younger self swallowed.

"Walk through," Numair said, voice soft. "There isn't much time. Both of you, walk."

"Come home," Jack's voice echoed quietly, and Ianto smiled. He tugged gently on Anwen's makeshift halter and strode without fear into the future.

.

* * *

.

A little white pill.

In 2006, Ianto swallowed, staring at it. This was the chance. They all had to forget the past twenty four hours; every Torchwood employee had to take one. Gwen, Owen and Tosh had, and even the Captain would, although not quite yet. He'd dismissed Ianto, who was now sitting in the tourist office, staring at the pill in his palm. The Captain could have upped the dosage to make him forget everything—Torchwood, the war, Lisa. He could Retcon him back to childhood, and get rid of Ianto once and for all. It was the only way to be fired from Torchwood—to forget the whole thing. It was the right punishment for Lisa. It was what Ianto would do, in Jack's place.

He stared at the pill in his palm. It could be a twenty four hour dosage. It could be a three year dosage. There was no way to tell.

But his future self had said that it would be alright—he'd smiled as he walked through the portal, and that big brown horse had followed him easily. He had a future with Jack, god only knew why. Ianto didn't quite know how he felt about that, but he also knew that time was in flux. His future could change any second, if Jack decided to Retcon him. The future wasn't fixed. Jack could change it. Or he could Retcon Ianto so he didn't remember Lisa, and then—and then seduce him or something in the future, tell Rob and Kathy about Lisa himself, or change everything.

It could be done. The future wasn't set in stone, no matter how it seemed. It could be changed.

It all came down to trust, in the end. Jack said it was a twenty four hour dosage. Here and now, he hated Jack for Lisa, but he still worked for Torchwood, even if he probably shouldn't. He didn't trust Jack as far as he could throw him.

But his possible future self loved Jack. Did he trust his own judgment? He'd almost restarted the cyber race, after all, by trying to save his beloved Lisa.

It all came back to trust.

Surely, surely his future self would not love Jack, if he didn't trust him?

Ianto took a breath and picked up a glass of water.

Perhaps the risk was worth taking. He put the pill in his mouth and swallowed.

.

* * *

.

In Tortall, Ianto rested his cheek against Jack's shoulder and sighed. The other man clutched him tightly, murmuring with incoherent relief into his hair. Numair was closing the gateway and Ianto knew the eight cadets were waiting just outside the door. Anwen was huffing and puffing behind him, crammed into Numair's tiny workroom, Rikash's colors swirled with bright indigence in his mind, and Jack's lips pressed into Ianto's forehead. His headache, finally, had faded.

Ianto smiled. It was good to be home.

* * *

THE END

* * *

Well, the end of Switch, anyway. More Tales on the way, though, so no worries! Please drop a review :)


	15. Help From Friends

So I keep trying to write about the Scanran war, and it keeps not working. I end up with stuff before and after it, but never during. Anyway, here's a little interlude that takes place a few weeks before Squire begins.

* * *

**Help from Friends**

**

* * *

**

It was evening when Kel left the training yard, the cooling air rising in mists from the grass as the sun set. Jump trotted along at her heels, panting loudly in the summer quiet. The grounds were quite deserted but it was peaceful in its own way. Kel was tired and hungry, and still slightly put out.

It had been four weeks since she had passed her exams to become a squire, and she still had not been approached by a knight to serve. Her doubts were starting to creep up on her, and while she continually dismissed them, as time went on it was getting harder to do so.

Nevertheless, there were more important things to worry about, such as her growling stomach. It was useless to feel sorry for herself, Kel thought. Perhaps tomorrow someone would approach her; for now, she ought to get dinner.

As she walked across the grounds, a shadow caught her eye. Jump froze, the hairs on the back of his neck rising and Kel tensed. She was wearing her knife, but it did not do to draw a blade on an unknown; Jump's instincts were good, but they were upwind, which meant that the dog could not smell the stranger. It was starting to get dark, and she could not see the stranger's face.

"I don't suppose you're Captain Jones?" asked the shadow in a familiar voice. Kel relaxed, and Jump did as well. He barked once, a greeting, and raced over to say hello.

"Captain Harkness," she smiled at her friend's not-very-secret lover politely. "You're far from your grounds, if you don't mind my saying, sir."

It was true; Captain Jack Harkness and Captain Ianto Jones tended toward the other side of the castle, where their great, wooden hanger cast shadows on the lower rooms, and large out-of-place roads cut through a field that was never in use. It was said that they were working on a secret project, but Kel had never asked what it was.

"Just walking," the Captain shrugged, kneeling to scratch Jump's ear. His voice had a gloomy note in it, which was odd for the normally cheerful man. "Are you heading back to the mess hall?"

"Yes, sir," Kel replied, a little perplexed.

"I'll walk with you, then," Captain Harkness said, rising finally coming close enough so that she could see him. Jump trotted playfully at his heels.

He was a reasonably tall man, with messy dark hair, blue, blue eyes and a smile that sent the court ladies swooning. Captain Harkness was one of the most beautiful men to step foot in the country of Tortall, if the court ladies were to be believed. It was all a loss, though, Kel thought wryly; they could try all they liked, but the Captain's heart was very obviously taken. "Still no knights?" he asked conversationally.

Kel sighed. "No," she replied reluctantly, keeping pace with him as they made their way back to the castle. She did not know Captain Harkness very well, but she liked him, if only because Captain Jones clearly adored him. Ianto Jones had become an unlikely friend over the past few years, even if Kel rarely saw him.

"Pity," Captain Harkness said easily. "If I were a knight, I would've taken you, you know."

Kel blinked, but did not let her surprise show. "That's very kind of you, sir," she told him, startled. A wave of shocked delight washed over her at the complement.

"Had a fight with Ianto over it, actually," Captain Harkness added idly although he watched her keenly. "I wanted to extend an invitation into the air force, but he wouldn't hear of it."

"So you're doing it behind his back," Kel replied, raising an eyebrow and concealing her shock. The air force? She didn't even know what it was, only that the two Captains were starting it, and that it was top secret. Captain Harkness wanted her to join! She could not deny the slight hurt that Captain Jones did not want her, though. He was her friend, wasn't he?

But she was a squire, Kel thought with dismay. She wanted to be a knight, never mind how exciting the air force sounded. Captain Harkness huffed a laugh.

"Yeah," he grinned, teeth flashing in the growing darkness. "Don't take the offer, though," he added lightly. "Ianto's right; you need to be a knight, just to show all those bimbos out there that it isn't only the Lioness. Still, know that we would've taken you." His eyes turned serious. "Because we would've. We still would, if you want."

Kel stared at him, astonished, the hurt abruptly vanishing. She did not see Captain Jones as often as she would like, and she hardly knew Captain Harkness, but the kindness that the two of them showed to her was always unexpected. Pride filled her. "Thank you, sir," she said, and meant it. "But I do want to be a knight."

"Thought so," Captain Harkness replied cheerily, slapping her back. "And good thing, too; we'd've had to re-train you, and that would've been a mess, especially given the progress we're making." He winked, teasing.

"Progress?" Kel asked, containing her curiosity.

Captain Harkness sighed. "Ianto's off on a test run," he said wistfully, and Kel had to hide a smile.

"Which is why you're on the wrong side of the palace," she teased, but gently.

"Yeah," he said, flashing another one of those grins. "Am I that obvious?"

"I'm afraid so," she told him seriously, and he chuckled.

"I've lost my touch," he joked as they reached the light cast by the torches on the palace walls. The sun had almost fully set now. "It's a pity. I'll have to sleep with at least seven other people, now." He winked again. "Maybe all at once," he added thoughtfully, but his eyes glittered with humor.

"At least," Kel replied gravely. Captain Harkness' humor was very odd and often raunchy, but he did tone it down for Kel, and she appreciated it.

"If only to keep the court gossips scandalized," Captain Harkness said seriously. "I mean, here I am, walking with you, Girl Squire. Whatever will they think of next?"

"Next year's dress color?" Kel suggested without missing a beat, and Captain Harkness laughed brightly.

"A pity about the air force, Kel, we'd've loved to have you," he smiled, holding the door for her as they walked into a side entry. "But you're doing the right thing."

"Thank you, sir," Kel said, taking the door and ushering him through. The Captain rolled his eyes but went, good humored as always.

They made their way to the mess hall, chatting as they walked. It was fun knowing the Captains, Kel had to admit. Captain Harkness was quick to joke, and she wished she knew him better.

The air force Captains did eat in the hall with the pages on occasion; it was not unheard of, even if their hangar was on the other side of the palace. They were often found in the archives pouring over old manuscripts about magic and mage power, for whatever reason, during the winter months. There were no pages around this time of year, as they had all gone to Lord Wyldon's summer training camp, but there were a few squires around who, like Kel, had not been approached by a knight.

Captain Harkness gave her a wink and a smile when they entered, prepared to go his separate way when a voice made both of them jump.

"_Jack!_" Captain Jones, looking uncharacteristically windswept and disheveled, bolted across the nearly-empty mess hall. Those few that were there stared.

"Ianto?" Captain Harkness demanded, striding away from Kel in alarm. "Ianto, what the hell happened? You should be out for at least another two hours."

"Hurrocks," the other Captain scowled. "Hurrocks happened, and the Rhi's gone down."

Captain Harkness swore, loudly enough that the few people in the mess hall started to titter. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Captain Jones said distractedly. "A little crispy."

"_A little crispy?_" Captain Harkness repeated incredulously. "Ianto—"

"Flames," Captain Jones said darkly. "There were flames, I'm fine, but there's this wreckage that we should probably—"

Captain Harkness swore again and grabbed Captain Jones' arm. He turned to Kel. "You. Come," he ordered, and his voice brooked no argument. Kel blinked in shock and followed them.

Hadn't she just turned _down_ the Captain's offer to be part of the air force?

"Brief me," Captain Harkness demanded as he dragged Captain Jones by the elbow through the hallway, Kel trotting after, trailed by a perplexed Jump.

"I thought you _weren't_ inviting Kel," Captain Jones growled.

"Do you think two people can clean up a fallen, flaming aerodyne without needing help?" Captain Harkness snapped. "Do you remember what happened with the Franklin? Numair is in no position to help us, given that he's half way across the damn country. Kel's a squire. She can do the heavy lifting, and we both already trust her."

"Sir?" Kel asked, utterly baffled. Captain Jones sent her a pleading look.

"You're supposed to be a squire," he told her ruefully. "And King Jon's going to have our heads for interfering with her training," he added, glaring at Captain Harkness.

"We're not interfering; she hasn't been approached by a knight yet. Besides, he'll have _my_ head, because it's my idea. Good thing mine grows back," Harkness muttered. Kel blinked, even more confused.

"Over my dead body," Jones snarled.

"Which is exactly what we're trying to prevent. Are you going to brief me, or are we going to walk in circles?"

"This way," Captain Jones scowled, taking the lead and turning down a corridor. Kel, Jump and Captain Harkness followed. "I was flying fast," he started, leading the way. "High up, too, as we have decent cloud cover. There was a flock of hurrocks. They attacked."

"They attacked you?" Captain Harkness demanded, alarmed. "That's… they don't normally do that."

"Well, first time for everything," Captain Jones muttered. "I tried to out-maneuver them. I flew down, and when I barrel-rolled, the engine failed."

"How high were you?" Captain Harkness asked.

"Not high," Jones said. "But I came in pretty fast. The right back wing hit the ground—awkward angle—and the whole thing crashed. End over end."

"Oh my god, Ianto," Harkness breathed.

"Numair's safety charms held, though. I'm fine, Jack," he added, more gently, stopping as they reached a door. They'd crossed the other side of the castle. "But then after I got out it caught fire. Scared the hurroks off, but it's too big for me to put out. I put a containment spell on it, but I think we have to do it the old fashioned way. You know, with water."

Kel fought to keep up. She had no idea what they were talking about, except that Captain Jones got attacked by hurrocks, and that somehow he was flying, and that he crashed. She almost didn't believe her ears. He'd been _flying_.

"That's what you do," she said softly, standing slightly to the left of them as they stood next to the threshold of the door. "The air force. You're—you're building flying machines."

"Shh," Captain Jones said, putting his finger on his lips. His eyes were warm, though, and they filled with pride. "Top secret, Kel."

Kel stared at him. She wanted to laugh with delight. Machines that flew! She could barely wrap her mind around it. "How—" she whispered.

"No," Captain Jones interrupted her gently. "You have to become a knight. You're not working with us—you're not part of the air force. We do need help cleaning up tonight, though," he added reluctantly

Kel nodded soundlessly. Captain Harkness turned to Captain Jones.

"I don't like you in this much danger," he said softly. He glanced at Kel and then once down the empty hall, before putting a hand on Captain Jones' cheek. "Ianto—"

Captain Jones kissed his palm and then opened the door. "No worse than Torchwood, Jack," he murmured and then his eyes fell uncomfortably on Kel.

Pride filled her. They trusted her. They really trusted her.

"What do you need me to do, sir?" she asked quietly, and Captain Harkness beamed.

"Water," he said. "We're going to need lots and lots of water, but no one can see the wreck. So we're going to show you where it is, and between the three of us put out the fire, okay?"

.

* * *

.

It was _huge_.

It was the first thought that filled Kel's head when they reached the glow of the contained fire of the wreckage in the woods. She'd been expecting something vaguely horse-sized, and instead got something the size of two large wagons.

Of course, it was two large wagons on fire, but she was certainly still surprised.

The fire was strangely colored, pale blue and violet and black, casting weird shadows on the trees. Captain Jones, half-lit, splashed one of his two buckets of water at it. It hissed and sizzled.

Kel got to work.

She put down her two buckets of water and hurried back, closely followed by Captain Harkness and then, lastly, Captain Jones. The two Captains had gone down to the stables to get their horses, a good natured dappled gelding and a jumpy mare. They used the animals to ferry water; with the horses, they carried over thirty buckets to the wreckage before they stopped to breathe and then the three of them put out the fire.

"Now what?" Kel asked, lit by the glow of Captain Jones' Gift.

"Now we need to pick up the pieces," Captain Harkness sighed, looking at the massive, steaming skeleton with regret. "We couldn't let it burn—there's still some stuff we need in there. C'mon." He strode over to the wreck. "Red, Anwen, you can stand over there, if you don't mind carrying some of the heavy stuff," he added, glancing at the two horses.

The dappled gray snorted, pawing the ground.

"Oh, hush, you had nothing better to do anyway," Captain Harkness scolded the gelding, who tossed his head. The mare stood patiently and gave a sigh. Kel knew better than to question; Jump was far smarter than a regular dog through association with the wildmage – that these horses were apparently just as intelligent was no surprise.

Captain Harkness watched to the two horses for a moment and then nodded to himself. He turned to his co-Captain. "Ianto, once we get the engine out, do you think you could destroy the skeleton?" he asked.

"Yep," Captain Jones replied. "Need to get some of those controls, too. They've got a fire-retardant spell on them."

"There's a job. Kel, see the ropes? Could you collect them?" Captain Harkness asked, gesturing to strange coils, which glinted as though woven with metal and peaked through the black cinders in the wreck.

"Yes sir," she said, and got to work. Captain Jones went over to help Harkness.

The ropes were long and heavy, the metal in them strange. They were half buried and hard to dig out. She'd gotten one out by the time Captain Harkness and Captain Jones dug out something large and vaguely square from the middle of the wreck. Captain Jones came over to help her with the second rope after that, while Captain Harkness got started on something on the other side.

"Well?" her quiet friend asked with a proud half smile. "What do you think, Kel?"

"Did it really fly?" she asked, winding the rope around her arm, heedless of the soot. It was a stupid question, but she just couldn't believe it.

"Yep. This was the latest model Rhiannon," Captain Jones explained. "We were just finishing the experiments for the next generation, too." He sighed. "We're going to need a new name."

Captain Harkness, apparently eavesdropping, tugged at something that snapped. "I think we should start with a fighter plane. Fighterdyne. Ooh, I like that, Ianto—fighterdyne." He looked up and grinned in the pale glow of Captain Jones' magelight.

Captain Jones rolled his eyes heavenward, and Kel suppressed a giggle. "Whatever you want, Jack."

"Oh, I want—I want," Captain Harkness said with a leer. Jones rolled his eyes again.

The night wore on. The collected both the silver-woven ropes, as well as a strange, misshapen lump of metal that was very heavy. Lastly they took out what the Captains called a _console_, a strip of metal in front of the seat where a driver—_pilot_—would sit.

In the end, Captain Jones set the skeleton on fire, and they both bowed their heads.

"The last of the Rhiannons," Captain Harkness said as the wreck burned once more. "They were a good series."

"The best," Captain Jones added sadly. "Their namesake would be proud. Confused, but proud." He smiled a little, as though at a private joke.

Kel lowered her eyes respectfully, and they stood until the skeleton became ashes, which Captain Jones swept away with a wave of his hand.

Or, he tried to anyway. Most of the ashes flew away on the wind, but the Captain suddenly turned pale and swayed.

"You over exerted yourself again," Captain Harkness sighed, tucking an arm protectively around the other man's shoulders. "Don't worry about it. Kel and I will collect the rest in these buckets, right, Kel?"

"Yessir," she nodded and strode over to grab a bucket.

"Jack—" Captain Jones protested, but the other Captain held out a hand.

"Containment spell, fire retardant that didn't work, hard labor and then a fire spell and half a dispersal spell; you're done, Ianto. Not another word. Sit." He pointed to a log.

With a scowl, Captain Jones sat. "I'm not a dog, you know," he muttered.

"No, but you'll exhaust yourself if I let you," Captain Harkness scolded. "And don't say you won't; I've seen you do it. C'mon, Kel, let's fill these buckets. "

By the time they finished and loaded the horses it was very late and Kel was _very _hungry. The mess hall, unfortunately, was definitely closed after they made the last trip, carried the last of the buckets to the Captains' hangar and put the two horses away.

"Nope, that's okay," Captain Harkness assured her with another one of his broad grins. As they stood outside the tall, imposing shadow of the hangar. "We've got emergency food squirreled away for situations just like these, right, Ianto?"

Captain Jones sighed. "Well, she's already seen it. Come in, then, Kel." He opened the door to the hangar and waved a hand. Globe lights flickered to life, and his face turned gray.

"I'm getting dinner," Captain Harkness muttered, leading Captain Jones in by the arm. "You don't look so good."

Kel stepped through the door, feeling very privileged, and contained a gasp of wonder.

The hangar was massive, made of wood and high-ceilinged. Their footsteps would have echoed if it was empty, she was sure, but empty it was not; bits and parts of the flying machines were scattered everywhere in some kind of organized chaos and there were at least six models crouching by one of the far corners. Some of them had two wings, some of them had four or more and Kel didn't bother hiding her delighted grin. "There's—so many of them," she breathed, awed.

Captain Jones sat on one of the arching wings of a machine, gesturing for her to join him. "Yep," he smiled, eyes following Captain Harkness as he wove in and out of the clutter, whistling. "The four-winged ones are part of the Rhiannon series; the ones with two wings or more are Franklins."

"Aerodynes and aeroplanes, respectively," Captain Harkness called cheerfully from where he had disappeared amongst the chaos.

"And you built these?" Kel asked her friend, hardly believing it. "They all fly?" The wing Captain Jones sat on looked rather delicate; she opted to stand, lest she break it.

"Well, for a given definition of fly," Captain Jones shrugged. "That one, the Franklin Mark I?" He pointed to a fragile-looking machine with six wings, three on each side stacked on top of the other, connected by thin strips of bronze. "It only sort of glides; no engines, you see. All the Franklins don't have engines, just wound propellers on the wings. They can't fly for long."

"But they can still fly," Kel said delightedly. "It's—it's amazing, Captain Jones. Truly."

Captain Jones smiled at her. "It is," he agreed. "And the better part of five years work, to be honest—but we're still a year or two away from building anything useful."

"Still," Kel insisted. "Top secret," she marveled after a moment.

"Nothing we're not used to," Captain Harkness said grandly, walking back holding a large, rounded piece of wood like a tray but for the nails sticking jaggedly out of one end. "Jerky?"

"Jack," Captain Jones sighed. "Is that one of the rudders from the Rhiannon Mark III?"

"Yep," Captain Harkness replied cheekily, and Kel giggled.

It was amazing, it was true, but she still wanted to be a knight rather than part of the air force. Nevertheless, it was fun to pretend that she'd said yes to their offer, if only for the night. Captain Jones scolded Captain Harkness with good nature, taking the jerky and insisting that Kel sit on the wing of the machine he was sitting on – an aerodyne, apparently, and called the Rhiannon Mark IV. Captain Harkness, however, was banished to the floor and Kel laughed at his stricken expression. Amongst the great machines in the hangar, the two Captains told her stories about building and flying, and late nights spent making machines. She listened with fascination and frank delight, but when midnight rolled around she realized that she should probably be getting back.

"No worries," Captain Harkness shrugged. "We'll walk you. C'mon, Jump!" he called to the dog, who seemed to have fallen asleep after eating a piece of jerky.

The dog woke with a grumble.

"The woes of being a well-fed canine," Captain Jones commented. Jump glared at him.

They made it back to her rooms without a fuss and then both waved her goodbye. Kel opened her door, closed it and then smiled tiredly. It was very late for her, so she changed her clothes quickly and prepared for bed.

That night she dreamed of flying, and two weeks later Lord Raoul asked for her service.


	16. Somnus

(This takes place a few weeks after "Ianto sets things on fire" but before "How I got rid of them." More on the way - enjoy!)

* * *

**Somnus**

Jack woke in the dark with a gasp, and the only thing that stopped him from sitting bolt upright was the heavy weight across his chest. He felt a moment of blind panic at the restraint, but it quickly subsided; this weight was as warm as it was comforting.

Ianto, dead asleep, mumbled something and cuddled closer. Jack gulped in great lungfuls of air and hunched a little, grasping Ianto's shoulder. He looked around, swallowing.

He was still in the forest. There were crickets in the distance, and there was a dark shadow on a low hanging branch; Rikash's feathers scraped against each other, ruffled by a slight breeze. Numair was snoring in the other bedroll. Jack could hear Daine's whistling breathing as well, and a weight on his feet that meant Kit had slept on his bedroll again. The horses were great shadows off to the side; only three of them, now that Alanna and George had left. Ianto was curled up close, half on top of him and not wearing a nightshirt, as Jack had finally coaxed him into sleeping more comfortably. He was only wearing a pair of Numair's soft, cotton sleeping trousers. The warmth and the feel of his skin sank into Jack's bones. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe deep.

Safe. Everyone was safe. Ianto was warm and alive, like a dream in and of himself. Even Jack's nightmares couldn't change that fact, no matter how horrific they were.

A little boy's scream was still ringing in his ears, and blue eyes - Jack's own eyes, in a grown woman's face - were harsh and accusing. Jack wrapped an arm around Ianto's shoulders, pressing him closer. Ianto was alive, but that didn't make it better. Somewhere in the universe, a boy was still dead and a daughter still bitter.

A horse snuffled in its sleep. A bat flapped somewhere. A twig snapped. Ianto sighed, warm breath on Jack's chest. Peace. Jack tried to absorb it. This was Tortall. There was peace here, even if Jack didn't really deserve it.

The nightmare, hazy and indistinct, tapped at his mind with a clawed finger. He couldn't quite remember it anymore, but the emotion was still there; loss and misery and terror. Jack stroked Ianto's back, trying to calm himself. It wasn't really working.

Ianto mumbled something into his shoulder. Jack looked down at the tousled dark head on his chest. Ianto grumbled. It sounded like Welsh, and it made Jack smile a little.

But everything was not okay, not really. He had Ianto again, and that was wonderful, but it didn't fix things. He still hadn't told Ianto, after all. He didn't know if he could. He couldn't even think the boy's name, much less say it aloud-

Something glinted in the forest. Jack turned his head; the light from the embers of the fire reflected off a pair of glowing eyes. By its hulking shape he recognized the weevil, and clenched a hand on Ianto's shoulder. Numair's wards should keep it out, but it reminded Jack again of his task - he would have to kill that creature. More blood for his hands, how fitting. But not tonight, he thought wretchedly, watching the golden, reflecting eyes. Maybe tomorrow.

"Jack," Ianto sighed into his shoulder. "I've already expressed my feelings about sex in the presence of baby dragons." He yawned.

Jack turned his eyes from the weevil and looked at the drowsy, vaguely peeved eyes of his lover. If he was feeling more himself, Jack would have made a crack about sex in front of things that were not baby dragons, but tonight, with the shadows of the trees blocking out the faint moonlight, he wasn't feeling the humor. A twig snapped; the weevil must have run off. "I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured instead. "Sorry."

Ianto frowned a little and rubbed his cheek on Jack's chest with sleepy affection. Jack's heart very quietly and very terrifyingly ached at the gesture. "Then you can probably let go of my shoulder," Ianto said kindly. Jack realized that he was clenching his hand.

"Sorry," he muttered again, soothing the skin of Ianto's shoulder regretfully with his thumb. His fingernails had left little indentations, but no cuts.

"You alright?" Ianto asked quietly, shifting so he could look up at Jack. In the dark, he looked very young. Jack thought, maybe, that he loved him.

Impulsively, Jack leaned down to kiss his nose. Ianto went a little cross-eyed trying to watch, and this amused Jack gently. "Fine," he lied softly. "Go back to sleep, Ianto."

Ianto gave him a skeptical look, but did not push the matter. Instead he settled in once more, shifting and curling and very alive.

Jack stroked his shoulder quietly. Numair snored and the wind whispered. Ianto couldn't find a comfortable position again, but eventually he relaxed. Jack wasn't alone anymore.

"Whatever it is," Ianto murmured sleepily into the silence after a good half hour, "it's alright, Jack."

Jack cuddled him. "No," he whispered as Ianto drifted off at last, "it isn't."

He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

* The title means "Sleep" or "Slumber" in Latin. I didn't want to use either of the English translations because they're a bit too hard-sounding. I thought 'Somnus' fit better, because it's softer, and this story's kind of quiet.


	17. Homesick

**Homesick**

"Ianto?" Daine's voice echoed across the silent platform on Balor's Needle. The night was still and warm, and the stars twinkled coldly up in the sky. "Ianto, are you up here?"

The dark form on the far side of the platform shifted. "Yes," Ianto replied reluctantly. "Did you need something?"

Daine let out a breath, relieved. "Are you okay? You weren't at dinner."

She and Numair had thought Ianto was missing Jack, since he was still out weevil hunting. Ianto often met them in the mess hall for dinner. Numair had wanted to teach him some of the constellations tonight, as it was the first clear night since they had returned from the forest. But he had been absent, and Daine had worried.

Ianto sighed and looked up at the stars. "I'm fine," he said quietly.

"You don't sound fine," she countered. He shook his head.

"It's stupid," Ianto muttered. "It's really, really stupid."

"Anything you want to talk about?" Daine walked over to stand next to him. She leaned her arms on the railing, looking out. To the left, Corus was a dark shadow with the occasional twinkle of a candle in a window, or the torches on the major streets. To the right the Royal Forest was a black stain. Above, the stars shone coldly. The moon was new and the night was very dark and very clear.

Ianto was quiet for a long moment. He was a hard man to read, Daine thought, looking at his shadowy profile. She hadn't known what to expect from the man who had broken Jack's heart when he'd died, but Ianto was not at all it. He was nothing like Jack, who was showy and loud and hid behind a bright, distracting grin. Ianto was quiet instead, a man who faded into the shadows, almost shy, except for the dry wit and surprisingly quirky humor. Daine had found that she liked him, even outside of Jack's clear adoration of him. Ianto was quiet and intelligent and sarcastic and Jack had been right; his coffee was the best she'd ever had, and Daine didn't even really like coffee. Even still, he was a hard man to get to know.

"I can't find mine," he said softly into the darkness. Daine blinked at him, puzzled.

"Your what?" she asked.

"My star," he muttered, almost a whisper. "I can't find my sun. The constellations are all wrong and I can't find my sun."

He's homesick, Daine realized with surprise. Of course he's homesick; he's a million, million miles away with no hope of ever going back.

"Jack would probably know," she told him gently. Ianto snorted.

"No. He'll squint and plug it into his wrist strap and approximate, but he won't know." He sighed again. "I feel like I should just _know_. I told you; stupid."

"Not stupid," Daine assured him. She looked up at the sky, and knew all the constellations. What would it be like, she wondered, to not be able to find a single one? "Do you miss it? Earth, I mean."

Ianto hummed a little, still looking at the stars. "Not really," he admitted after a moment. "That's another reason why this is silly. It wasn't a good place, but it was _my_ place. My planet. I gave my life to defend it, after all, for all the good it did." She couldn't see in the darkness, but Daine could tell by his voice that he was giving a wry smile.

"But you don't miss it," she said slowly, not quite understanding. She would certainly miss Tortall, had she suddenly found herself somewhere else. Ianto shrugged.

"Parts of it. I miss the technology, and the clothes." His voice colored with another smile and turned wistful. "I miss the hub—our base—but that was destroyed, anyway. I even miss Gwen. Gwen Cooper—she was the other member of our team. Torchwood. I rarely saw my sister, but for what it's worth it would have been nice to say goodbye." Ianto paused regretfully. "And that's it, really, because everyone else was dead, and everything else is mostly the same, except different. Still." He looked at the sky again. "It would be nice to know where home was."

"I'm sorry, Ianto," Daine said softly, filled with sympathy. His life on his planet sounded so lonely, she thought sadly. "But this can be home too, you know."

"It will be," he replied with a shrug. "Don't have much of a choice, do I? But it's a nice place." Ianto shifted his weight, leaning against the railing. "Quiet, and the people are kind. There's a bit of a change," he added wryly. "Although I can't say I'm thrilled with living in the countryside."

"You could live in the city," Daine suggested. Ianto snorted.

"Not until you invent indoor plumbing, I won't," he muttered dryly and Daine chuckled.

They stood in companionable silence for a moment. "The constellations," Ianto said slowly into the silence. "You must have some."

"We have a lot," Daine assured him, and then paused thoughtfully. She looked up, searched, and then smiled a little to herself. "That cluster over there," she said, pointing to a strange triangle in the east. Ianto flicked his fingers; blue light danced and an illusion made the stars she spoke about flash.

"Those?" he asked.

"Yes," Daine beamed. "You're getting better," she complemented him. Ianto shrugged and the light dimmed.

"Your boyfriend _has_ been teaching me," he said dryly and Daine laughed brightly.

"Boyfriend. Poor Numair—reduced to a boy and a friend all at the same time." She grinned at him. "You had such funny words in Cardiff."

Ianto smiled back, illuminated by the faint light of his Gift. "It is strange. Never suited Jack, to be honest, _boyfriend. _Those stars?"

Daine snorted. "Right, the stars. The first week or so Jack was here, he said it was a constellation from earth, called Orion. Do you know it?"

Ianto sucked in a surprised breath. "He told you that?" he breathed. This clearly meant something to him, as Daine figured it would. Even a little bit of home was a treasure, especially in strange lands.

"Yes. Although I still don't see how it's an archer." She shrugged at him.

"Different angle. Look." He flicked his fingers and the lights danced in another illusion. "This is what it looked like from Earth."

Daine cocked her head. "That's… his belt."

"And his arms and his legs and his dagger, as well as his bow and arrow." As he said it, Ianto lit the sparks of light he spoke of.

"That's beautiful," Daine told him honestly, lost for a moment in the wonder of it—a constellation from a whole other planet.

"Gone, now," Ianto said regretfully, letting the lights dim.

"Not gone," Daine assured him. "Like you said: just a different angle."

Ianto quirked a small, sad smile and they sat in silence once more.

"There," Daine said before he could get too melancholy. "That one, can you see it? Six stars, almost in a line? That's the Lord of Horses."

"I don't see it," Ianto said dryly. "Those?" He gestured and they twinkled.

"Yes. And constellations aren't supposed to make real shapes," she chided him. Ianto chuckled. "The Mare is next to him, rearing."

"The stars that look like a K?"

"Yes," Daine said, nodding as Ianto outlined them with another illusion. "The story goes that he tried to catch her and break her, and chased her all around the world. When he finally caught her, she told him that horses may be slaves to men, but horse gods are slaves to no one, not even the Horse Lord. So he let her go, lest he be cursed." Daine smiled. "But years later he was almost trampled to death by a panicking herd, and she came to his rescue, because he released her."

"Is that a horse myth, or a human one?" Ianto asked with a smile. Daine grinned at him.

"Oh, that's the two-legger one. The horses say she let him die, and regretted it ever after."

"Cheerful," Ianto said dryly, but he sounded amused.

"Most horses have no love for two-leggers," Daine shrugged. She looked from the stars to her companion. He had his elbows braced on the railing head tilted back to see the stars. His hands glowed slightly with his pale blue Gift, and he turned, caught her looking. He smiled at her a little and there, briefly, was the man that Jack adored: quiet, mischievous, and a soft heart. Daine smiled back at him, and he waved a hand playfully, so the blue light danced and then dissipated.

"I could see why," he replied after a moment. He squinted up at the sky again. "Lord of Horses and the Mare. Did Jack tell you the story of Orion and the Scorpion?"

"He did," Daine nodded. "But I'm sure you know others."

Ianto shrugged. "Cassiopeia," he said, gesturing. The illusion magic flickered to show a sort of W in the sky. "For half of the year she reclines on her couch, and for the other half she remains upside down for punishment…"

He was a good storyteller, Daine thought with surprise. He told a tale of foreign, fascinating gods from a land called Greece, about a vain woman who boasted about her daughter's beauty. There was a sea monster, and a hero called Perseus who slayed the monster, which bled into another story about a woman called Medusa who turned people to stone. She was slain by Perseus, but perhaps unjustly; her curse was brought on because she refused to bed with the sea god, called Poseidon.

In turn, Daine told him stories, both Two-legger and People; there was the Mother and her great Cat, who was apparently a companion to Alanna the Lioness, once. That story faded into the one about the Mother's three forms, and the terror of the buck when the Huntress chased him. She told the story of the Huntress' pity on the buck, and how he begged for his life, cornered up against a wall, only to speak out of turn and enrage her, so he died anyway.

By the time Numair found them, Daine had given the astronomy lesson instead and Ianto was smiling, homesickness soothed, at least for the night.


	18. Cry Havoc

So I keep trying to write a full story for this, and it keeps coming out as crap. I think I'm forcing it too hard. I've decided to stop and post the bits and pieces that can stand alone. Here's my plan: I'm going to post Scanran war stuff in one-shots, so I can post the stories-which have been written for ages- that come after the war. Then, if the muse bites me, I'll go back to writing about the war and make it into a full story. This way I haven't left you guys hanging, and I can get some of the stuff on my hard drive up. Anyway, this is the first of the war stories. Enjoy!

* * *

**War's Beginning**

"As far as we know," Baron George of Pirate Swoop was saying in his gruff, accented voice, "This warlard Maggur of Scanra uses hostages to unite the clans. He squirrels away the loved ones and families of the clan leaders in that castle of his _for their protection, _but one threat to them brings his leaders right back in line." George looked around the table.

_Lovely_, Jack Harkness thought quietly to himself, resting his cheek on his fist and watching George sleepily. _More_ _information about a country that I will never set foot in._

Jack wasn't much one for planning and this meeting had already been going on for three hours. Ianto was off spying, of course, on the subject matter of the counsel: the country Scanra, and its threat to the Tortallan border. War was looming, but only to those in the know. As a Captain of the air force, Jack was important enough to be in the know.

But his presence at this meeting was rather pointless. It wasn't like he had any valuable impute on Scanran activity, and they'd been talking about this war for the past two weeks now.

God but planning was boring. Jack's eyelids drooped.

"_I_ think-" began another stuffed-up noble.

"-is Sir Myles in here?" interrupted a weary, familiar voice. Jack's eyes snapped open and he looked up in alarm.

"Ianto?" he demanded, standing quickly and staring in surprise at the figure leaning against the threshold of the door. "Ianto, what are you doing here?"

Jack's Co-Captain looked awful. He was swaying on his feet, clearly exhausted, his hair oily and slick from a long time without baths. His clothes were rumpled, which was very uncharacteristic, and his eyes were wild.

"Jack," he managed, taking a staggering step forward. "I can't find Sir Myles."

"He's in here, Ianto," Jack said, making to race around the table and lead Ianto to a chair or something.

"Sit down, Ianto," Sir Myles himself, the spymaster of Tortall and technically the one in charge of Ianto's missions, said soothingly from his place on the other end of the table. The old man rose gracefully and beat Jack to the door. "You look like you're about to collapse."

Ianto sighed, looking relieved to see the spymaster. His shoulders drooped with exhaustion that was painful for Jack to see. Had he been sleeping at all? "I came back as fast as I could," Ianto muttered, accepting Sir Myles' help. "As soon as I s-saw them. The Tosh is completely out of fuel." He swallowed.

"Easy does it," growled George, standing to offer his seat to Ianto. Sir Myles was, ostentatiously, the spymaster of Tortall; however, it didn't do for a spy to be ostentatious. George was the other one, the secret one, and the one who really gave Ianto his missions. Jack had made powerful allies in his first few months in Tortall; George was a friend, and for all of Sir Myles' gentle nature, it was George who really kept Ianto safe. "Might as will give your report here, save yourself some time. Jack, fetch your lad some water, will you? He looks parched."

Jack frowned, but he went to do as George bade him. "What did you see, Ianto?" he asked with dread. Ianto was very strong and very staid; anything that could make him rush back with such fear in his eyes had to be very, very bad.

"They look like cybermen," Ianto whispered, and a strange tremor went through his body as he stared down sightlessly at the table in front of him. "But they can't be cybermen," he babbled, shaking his head. "They're _not _cybermen."

"_WHAT?_" Jack demanded. He scooped a cup from the corner where refreshments were provided, filled it with water and raced to Ianto's side. He took the cup from Jack gratefully, but his hand shook when he drank it.

"You need to slow down, lad," George said soothingly. He exchanged an uneasy glance with Sir Myles. "What's a cyberman?"

Jack reached out to rub Ianto's shoulder. One of the more stuffy nobles in the room muttered something under his breath but Jack ignored him. "They're people," Jack explained darkly as Ianto leaned into his touch, fine shivers of exhaustion and fear making their way up and down his arms. God, Ianto was _trembling_, Jack thought with great concern."People who incased themselves in steel and wiped away everything that made them human. Their purpose is to convert more humans." He touched the backs of two fingers gently to Ianto's jawline. The others in the room did not know Ianto's past; his girlfriend, once upon a time, had been partially converted. Jack and his team had destroyed her before she could convert them all. Ianto, Jack's unflappable Ianto, was still liable to fall to pieces if there were cybermen involved, because of Lisa.

Ianto licked his lips. "They looked like cybermen," he repeated uneasily, as though unable to say anything else. "The Tortall-version, anyway, the same way the aerodynes are not quite aeroplanes."

"What looked like cybermen?" Sir Myles asked.

Ianto took a steadying breath. "Is there a map?" he asked quietly. George shuffled a sheet of parchment to him; on it was a vague, sketchy drawing of Tortall.

"Did you fly from the Vassa River to Corus in a _day_, Ianto?" Jack scolded gently, still rubbing his lover's shoulder. "You must be exhausted."

Ianto shook his head. "Had to get back," he muttered, picking up a quill. "Had to tell you. I was here." He marked a small, neat x on the map. "Flying low over the mountains. The plan was to follow the Vassa River and then the Pakkai to Castle Rathhausak, see if I could find anything on those hostages." He nodded to Myles who smiled at him. "This was just on the wrong side of the boarder. It was foggy and there was tree cover. I couldn't turn my engines on in enemy territory, but there wasn't anything to see yet; just forests. There was a raiding party, I think, moving through the woods here." He tapped the map. "They were noisy and then this _thing_ climbed up on a tree." He shivered. Jack rubbed his neck and gently ruffled the short hairs there with his thumb.

"Can you draw it?" Sir Myles asked gently. Ianto pulled a sheet of parchment out of his coat pocket.

"Already did. Here." He passed it over and then slumped in his chair, as though utterly drained. Jack caressed the vertebrae on the back of his neck and leaned forward to see the drawing.

Ianto wasn't much of an artist, but he was passable; the thing was human shaped with a tail and a domed head. Ianto had taken a strange amount of time to detail the fingers and toes; they were long and thin and oddly shaped.

"It must've been seven feet tall," Ianto muttered. "And its hands and feet cut the tree like broccoli."

Ah, Jack thought quietly. That's why. Ianto really wasn't much of an artist; he was trying to draw the appendages looking like knives.

"Did it see you?" George asked.

"Doesn't matter," Jack growled. "After Grand stupid Progress everyone knows about the dynes." He was referring to the magnificent, showy parade through the country the king had held a year ago. It had been to introduce the Princes' betrothed to Tortall, as well as showing the world Tortall's brand new aerodynes. Unfortunately, it had completely blown their cover: the air force was not secret any longer.

"It didn't see me," Ianto murmured. "It was cloudy. I went up into the mist as soon as I saw it. I might've panicked." He gave a tired, wry smile.

"Ianto Jones, panicking? Never," Jack teased gently. Ianto didn't reply, but he leaned more heavily into Jack's hand. Jack frowned in concern. Ianto was a very private sort; the fact that he was accepting the affectionate touch in public was worrying; the fact that he was actually encouraging it must mean that he really needed it. That was beyond worrying. He must be really shaken, Jack thought anxiously.

"And by the time you came down from the clouds?" Sir Myles asked.

"Gone," whispered Ianto. "All of them, gone. I turned tail and came straight back."

"Good lad," George said. "Very good." He looked at Myles. "This confirms Landfall," he added darkly.

"It does," Sir Myles sighed.

"Landfall?" Jack asked dangerously.

"One of our more—reliable—Scanran spies," sneered a man. Kathridge, Jack remembered. Kathridge of the awful name, from Disart. Damn conservatives.

"It is not a question of reliability," Sir Myles said. "You've done very well indeed, Ianto," he praised softly. "May we keep this?" he indicated the drawing. Ianto nodded breathlessly.

"Anything else to report?" George asked gently.

"Shipyard's still active," Ianto muttered, still leaning heavily into Jack. "They've got warming spells on the water, so they're still making the wolf-ships, even though it's winter."

"Good to know," George nodded. "Now. Jack, you take our boy there and get him washed up and a meal. Something nice and fancy; he's brought us a valuable piece of information."

"Baron," protested Kathridge, but George turned stony eyes on him.

"Now ain't the time to be talking of propriety, my lord," he said darkly. "We have some plans to draw up."

.

* * *

.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Jack asked anxiously as soon as the door to their rooms closed. He took Ianto by the arms and looked into his tired eyes. He really did look awful.

There was a rustle on the balcony. Both men turned to see Rikash landing in a flurry of clinking feathers. The Stormwing stuck his head through the window. Ianto made a face, but Rikash's green eyes were calm. "No," the Stormwing said somberly, eyes not leaving Ianto's. "He's not alright."

Ianto sagged a little against Jack, who murmured softly in alarm. He wrapped his arms around the other man, pulling him in close. Rikash made a small, chirpy noise from the windowsill, like a tired bird.

"I sent for a bath," Jack whispered, starting to tug at Ianto's clothes. "They might've put it in my rooms, on second thought," he added. "Damn Tortall." He smiled at Ianto hopefully.

"Don't leave me alone?" Ianto asked very quietly, lifting his eyes from the floor to meet Jack's. The effect was devastating. Gods, but he must be _exhausted_, Jack thought worriedly, cuddling him closer. Rikash, apparently sensing imminent snuggles, went back outside and flew off in disgust.

"Never," Jack told Ianto seriously, cupping his chin and leaning back a little. "_Never_." He kissed him very carefully, but it very quickly got out of hand. Despite his exhaustion, it seemed that this was what Ianto wanted; he leaned into Jack with something akin to relief.

The maid didn't put the bath in Jack's room. She walked in on them instead, squeaked, and then bolted, leaving the door open and letting the bath, filled with hot water and levitated with her Gift, clunk to the ground. The sound startled Ianto's frayed nerves, and he jumped.

Jack scowled.

Ianto sighed. By now mostly naked, he went boneless again against Jack, which did a lot to soothe the other man. He rested his head on Jack's shoulder and gestured; the bath lifted into the air again and slowly floated into the room. It clearly cost him effort, and he shook as he carefully lowered it. Jack kissed his forehead tenderly.

"Alright?" he asked softly, concerned.

"Water," Ianto muttered. "It's heavier than it looks."

Jack sighed. Reluctantly, he pulled himself out of Ianto's arms and went to close the door. He threw the deadbolt.

"No more maids," he growled and turned. "Now," he told Ianto with a leer and a waggle of his eyebrows that made Ianto look heavenward with fond exasperation. "Those breeches are filthy; I suggest we get you out of them."

.

* * *

.

"Your assignment," King Jon said the next day, handing Jack a sheaf of parchment. Jack stared at it incredulously.

"I shouldn't be surprised," he sighed. "And yet, somehow, I still am. You're sending me to Northwatch?"

"No," Jon said. "I'm sending Ianto to Northwatch. He needs to report in a place that's not Corus; he'll be able to go deeper into enemy territory if he's up by the border. I'm sending _you_ with the Third Company to build a new fort at the next thaw. When war breaks out, that's going to be your base."

"I get a base?" Jack asked delightedly.

"Not to run," the king told him firmly. "It's a place to report to. You'll get your orders from there, and you'll have to build the Gwen a hangar. We'll tell the Third Company to bring Red for you. You'll be living there. I need you at the border, Jack."

"You know I can't cross it, though," Jack warned.

"You won't have to, trust me," the king sighed. "Your job is defense, that's it. Here." He pulled up a map. "The fort's due to be built here, between the road and the river. I want you on patrols; there have been a lot of raids from Scanran bandits. I think the Gwen can take care of that, right? And if those killing machines are about…" his voice trailed.

"Then we'd better show them we have killing machines of our own." Jack grinned fiercely. The king smiled back.

"Something like that," he replied. "You'll be reporting to Raoul of Goldenlake, by the way."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Kel's knightmaster?" he asked, surprised.

"The Knight Commander of the King's Own," Jon reprimanded him.

"Right, right," Jack muttered. "I met him at Progress. Stiff as a board." He smirked a little.

"Stop it," His Highness chuckled. "Mithros only knows how Ianto puts up with you."

"Mithros doesn't know," Jack confided dryly. "He can't stand me either, remember? Which is a pity, really, because he was—"

"Captain Harkness!" Jon laughed. "You're worse than any squire. Off with you. Raoul's still gathering supplies; I'm sure the Tosh and the Gwen could be of some use to him. They're leaving at the first thaw."

"Yes sir!" Jack said and saluted mockingly. He turned smartly on a heel and left.

"Well?" Ianto asked, waiting at the door. He looked much better after a bath and a good night's sleep—a very good night's sleep, Jack thought ruefully. As soon as Ianto had sunk into the warm water last night, he'd been out, and had slept till morning. Jack had been rather looking forward to 'I missed you' sex, but evidentially that had not been the case.

Luckily for him, there was this wonderful thing called morning, and a rested Ianto was a happy Ianto.

So to speak, anyway. Jack grinned wolfishly. "I get a _base_," he said.

"How terribly thrilling," Ianto remarked dryly, but his eyes were bright with humor. "And where is your base?"

"They're building it," Jack replied. "Which means you and I are flying up to Northwatch together at the first thaw."

"That's good," Ianto nodded. "Kind of His Highness to arrange it that way."

"Sounds more like he's getting us on his side," Jack remarked dryly.

"Oh?"

"Well, war's going to break out soon," Jack sighed. "And he wants us liking him. He's probably going to be giving a lot of unsavory orders in the future…" his voice trailed.

"Which," Ianto said with a wry smile. "We will obey, like good little sycophants."

"Or, you know," Jack added, "with the grace of elephants."

Ianto groaned. "Now I'm stuck with you for three months," he said with mock-horror. "What am I to do?"

There was a very convenient broom closet that Jack spotted. He took Ianto's hand, opened the door, and yanked. "I can think of a few things," he purred, and Ianto laughed.

And as the shadow of war began to descend over Tortall, they enjoyed their last few months of light.


	19. War: Tortall's Killing Machines

Alright! More Scanran war stuff.

DISCLAIMER: all of the King's Own and everyone in the fort belongs to Tamora Pierce, of course. Even the bandits that show up are the same ones from Squire... only they meet a very different fate with the aerodyne around. It should be noted that the parts of this chapter where they actually build the fort are lifted directly from Squire. Jack, of course, belongs to the BBC.

* * *

**War: Tortall's Killing Machines  
**

Jack followed the Third Company of the King's Own in poor spirits. He disliked leaving Ianto, especially in a war, but little could be done about it: orders were orders, and Ianto was stationed in Northwatch, whereas Jack was sent to build the new fort that would become his base. Jack flew for half a day over the Third Company train, until they started to make camp in a meadow. Jack frowned at them from above and figured he should make a few sweeps. He gripped the throttle and gunned the engines, flying in a spiral that expanded outward from camp. the Gwen's engines roared as he searched the ground for any maundering Scanrans, but of course he found none. Letting loose the small, triangular _all safe_ flag, he turned once again, reeled in the flag and landed gracefully next to camp in a three-point touchdown. The Gwen's wheels bounced gently on the springy grass.

"Alright!" Jack said cheerfully, hopping out of his dyne as soon as the growling engines quieted. "What am I building first?"

The men had started to set up camp by squads, but they had stopped mid-task when the Gwen landed. The aerodyne was still something of a novelty, after all, even to seasoned soldiers. The men stared at him, bemused, but Jack gave them his best, most cheerful grin. There were a few hesitant smiles back, but the soldiers of the Own didn't seem to know what to do with the cheerful air force Captain.

Finally Sir Raoul, the knight commander of the King's Own and the man who would be giving Jack orders in the foreseeable future, spoke up. "Could it pull a plow?" he asked after a moment as he eyed the Gwen speculatively.

Raoul was a big man with curly hair cropped short, and broad, ruddy face. He was all muscle, though, and was as easygoing as they came. His dark eyes gleamed with good humor, and if the rumors were true then Jack might actually have some luck with him. The men in Tortall were so uptight, but maybe Raoul...he was quite attractive, after all, and it could be fun, sleeping with the boss; Ianto had certainly enjoyed-

Ianto. No, Jack thought regretfully to himself. Ianto was from a culture where monogamy was the rule, and as unfortunate as that was, it wouldn't do to hurt him. He loved Ianto, really and truly, and even though a fling with the big, handsome knight would be perfectly acceptable by Jack's fifty-first century standards, Ianto would likely be hurt by it. Damn the twenty-first century and their weird taboos, Jack thought vehemently.

He cocked his head at the big knight, and despite his silent promise to Ianto, he didn't keep the coyness out of his voice. "What are you thinking?"

With the help of some of the soldiers, Jack and Raoul attached two plows to the back of the Gwen, and, after being sure that the way was clear, Jack started the engines. The dyne growled and trundled forward on its wheels, dragging the two plows behind. He turned a day-long job into a half a day's job, digging a broad ditch in the shape of a square that would outline the camp. Men followed the slow-moving dyne with shovels and connected the two furrows left by the plows, creating one large ditch with one side built up. The ground was sloppy and loose: early April was half-winter this far north.

The first night sleeping in the open was harrowing; without cover, the men were anxious, and the Gwen was quite the liability. But at last they raised the stockade walls in the trench and then filled the gaps. A crew planted sharpened logs in the outer edge of the ditch, to stop horses if not humans. The men cheered when, at last, they were able to withdraw behind their wall and close the gate.

Raoul gave Jack free reign with the plans for his hangar, which was to be built within the fort. Unfortunately, there wasn't much help to spare. The incredibly attractive Sergeant Domitan of Masbolle (and what was it with Tortall and the gorgeous men? This was completely unfair!) had some of his squad help, but really it was mostly Jack, so the hangar was slow going. Meanwhile, latrines went up as did sheds and the skeleton for the infirmary, mess hall and kitchen and a corral. Jack was a good carpenter—he had to be, what with building his own flying machine. Helping to build the fort was backbreaking, but ultimately satisfying. It was his base, after all, even if Raoul was in charge.

Once the camp was set, they needed to patrol the area that General Vanget had assigned them, and that was easy. Jack leaned casually against his hangar and grinned when Raoul began assigning squads to certain areas.

"You know," Jack began as soon as Raoul dismissed two of his Sergeants, "I do have a machine with some very nasty weapons. I think it even flies."

"You don't say," replied the knight, mock-thoughtful. "Well then. You'd better take the east wall, Captain Harkness."

"Sir-yes-sir!" Jack mocked, and spun on his heel to ready his dyne.

Patrols, Jack found, were remarkably boring. The Gwen was not made for spying at all; she was noisy, and her landing gear, in a style called conventional back on Earth, got in the way when he tried to look down over the side to see the ground. She was unwieldy, but he supposed that the noise served its purpose; it kept the raiders at bay, since he saw absolutely no one.

The slow flight ate up fuel, too. The Tosh was made to fly quietly at low speeds; when Ianto flew her slowly, he hardly used any fuel. The Gwen was built for speed and maneuverability; flying in slow, straight lines actually taxed the engine, which was designed for a higher velocity.

But orders were orders, Jack thought with regret, squinting out of the cockpit and down to the ground. He decided that he'd do a few friendly barrel-rolls over the town, when he got there. Towns in a war zone were tense, especially when the enemy wasn't showing themselves. The Gwen Mark I was reasonably well known by now; the aerodynes were Tortall's flashiest new weapons.

He rolled over the town, and the people came out of their ramshackle houses to point and cheer. Jack had fun with them; he flashed his flamethrowers up in the air, and flew slow loop-the-loops, before it was time to continue on. When he let loose his personal flag to flap behind the Gwen - a black phoenix on a red field, with a black octagon in the upper corner for Torchwood - in farewell, the town cheered below him. It was sort of gratifying, really, and it broke up the monotony.

"Saw you in town, today," said one of the men as Jack closed up the new hangar four hours later. Quasim, that was his name, Jack remembered after a moment's thought. He was one of the whaddyacall'ems—Bazhir, the people who lived in the deserts in the south of Tortall. Skin like sand and dark, bright eyes. It was a pity about the monogamy, really.

"Yeah?" Jack asked, leaning against the door. "What'd you think?"

"Impressive," nodded the soldier. He wasn't shy, not quite, but he was quiet; it was endearing, really.

"Thank you," Jack grinned. "All that patrolling—gets pretty boring, and it's hard on her engines. The tricks liven it up a bit, and they keep me awake. You're Corporal Quasim, right?"

"Quasim ibn Zirhud," the Corporal agreed. He smiled. "You're Captain Jack Harkness."

Monogamy, Jack told himself. Monogamy, monogamy, monogamy. It was unfair, it really was.

"At your service!" Jack saluted, eyes twinkling. You can look, but you can't touch, he thought to himself sternly. It wouldn't do to hurt Ianto.

The corporal chuckled. "The men were going to start a tournament, since the damn Scanrans don't seem to be showing their faces. Can you shoot a crossbow, Captain Harkness?"

Do not, do not, do _not_—"I can shoot anything," Jack leered. Damn, this was hard, and not in a good way. Quasim was _pretty. _

The corporal was either as easygoing as Raoul, or oblivious. "You're welcome to enter," he shrugged. "There's a bit of free time, now that the fort's mostly built. What do you say?"

Well, if you want me to _enter_, Jack almost said, but he caught himself. Ianto's feelings aside, he wasn't that much of a fool. This culture was very backwards; it wouldn't do to frighten off a friendly face. Innuendos like that, as tempting and amusing as they were, would only alienate Jack in this society and that was not something that he wanted—he needed these men as his allies. This meant the tournament was just the thing. "Sure," Jack grinned, pushing himself off the door of the hangar.

Quasim nodded."Good," he said and then cocked his head, urging Jack follow him. "You don't often eat with us," he added quietly. "Most of the men think you're being unfriendly."

Jack shrugged. "It's not intentional," he replied easily, truthfully. "I tend to get back at around dinnertime, and then I have to tend to her engines." He indicated the hangar behind them. "By the time I'm done, you've all left."

"Fair enough," Quasim said. They reached the pit where the men were starting to build the fire.

"Hello, Captain Harkness," Keladry of Mindelan greeted him with a smile. She was Sir Raoul's squire, and an old friend of Ianto's. Kel hadn't had much time, but she'd done her best to help build Jack's hangar. Unfortunately, the poor girl was a terrible carpenter, and Jack had had to forbid her from getting anywhere near his aerodyne. Every wall she tried to make fell down, but she was a good sort; unfailingly polite and smooth-faced, she had a twinkle of determination in her eye that Jack liked. She reminded him of Ianto, a little. Jack beamed at her.

"Hiya, Kel!" he replied cheerfully. Sergeant Domitan of Masbolle, sitting beside her, shook his head.

"Are you coming to play with us at last, Captain?" he asked, voice lightly mocking. "Didn't think the air force was ever going to sink to our level."

"Hey, dyne's gotta land sometime," Jack said with a grin. "What's this I hear about crossbows?"

"We were thinking to have a competition," A soldier - was his name Gildes? Jack couldn't remember - shrugged. "At least, between patrols, since there's no Scanrans."

"Sounds good to me," he grinned. "Do we have targets?"

It turned out that Jack was absolutely awful with a crossbow. He'd sort of known that from the get-go; he hadn't much experience, as the weapon was beyond out-dated in his time, and the second they'd put it in his hands it had felt wrong. It was too heavy, the front was weighted oddly and he kept on overcompensating for backlash that wasn't there. "You know," he complained as the men laughed when his bolt went wide again, "I'm good when it's attached to the wing of an aerodyne. This is just embarrassing. Give me a long bow, any day."

That was just asking for it, of course.

"Here you go," Kel said with a grin, scooping one up and passing Jack a bolt. Jack made a face at her, and she chuckled, going to stand with Raoul, her knightmaster.

"Everyone clear of the target?" Jack asked, amused. He notched the arrow.

"After that last shot? I'm not getting within five hundred feet of it," Sergeant-Domitan-call-me-Dom mocked.

"Right," said Jack, and sighted along the line.

_Fwump! _"Better," he said smugly. The arrow had hit the bull's eye.

"Much," Sir Raoul approved from where he was standing off to the side, whispering with Kel. "How is it that you learned one but not the other?"

"I don't like crossbows," Jack shrugged. "They're weighted funny." Really, he wished he could pull out his revolver, but that would be a bad idea. The less people who knew about it the better, really. But it would've been fun to see their faces.

"My turn," Sergeant Balim said, picking up the crossbow.

They shot until it got dark, and a few of the men even insisted on teaching Jack how to use a crossbow correctly. He milked it a little, enjoying their hands on him when they corrected his position, but in truth it was one of the very few weapons that he simply did not like. Still, he had fun, and by the time the sun set the men were grinning and laughing along with him as they moved to sit by the fire.

Time in that camp seemed to slow to a crawl. The Scanrans never showed. In May, there were reports of fighting along the coast, and of those wolf ships that Ianto spoke of, but nothing here, in this deserted little field. It was war, Jack knew. War consisted of more waiting than people gave it credit.

Frankly, he missed Ianto something fierce, but there was little to be done about it. On his long patrols, Jack sometimes imagined that he'd veer off and fly to Northwatch and surprise his lover, but he never did. Ianto was more likely to be spying up in Scanra anyway. He had promised that ass haMinch, who was in charge of Northwatch and giving Ianto orders, that he would not linger in the fort. Still, Jack wished quietly to himself during the long, dull patrols. Time was, he'd disregard orders and just do it, but that would have been very unwise. Jack, admittedly, was not the wisest person in the universe, but one did have to plan ahead, especially if one could not leave the country for five hundred years. It would be easier to stay in Tortall if he was in the king's good graces, and so committing treason and disregarding orders was a very, very bad idea, for all that it was tempting.

But, he thought glumly one foggy June day, it wasn't like there were Scanran troops here anyway.

Of course, that was the day that he found them.

They were riding their shaggy horses southwest, toward the fort, and Jack recognized them instantly through the mist from their battle formations. Tortallans rode in double columns with flags flying; Scanrans, apparently, rode in clusters. This was a raiding party, though, not soldiers. They wore no metal armor.

Right then, Jack thought coldly.

He flew higher, high into the sky where the air was thin and he knew the Tortallans could see him and engaged his flamethrowers; the bright orange fire burned away the mist and the thick, black smoke was utterly obvious to anyone who was looking. Then he flipped a switch and let his red, triangular _danger_ flag fly for anyone who had a spyglass, reeled in the flag, and then nosedived to the ground, pointing to the Scanrans directly. They, too, had seen him and tried to run, but really they were no match. He caught up to them, gunning his engines and flying hard to meet them.

As he howled to the ground the party's horses panicked at the noise of the engines and the men shouted in alarm. Arrows flew at the Gwen but Jack ignored them; Numair's safety spells held, and the arrows glanced off. Fifty feet from them he rolled and yawed, bringing the dyne in a screaming half-circle around the enemy party. They scattered, yelling, terrified, and Jack engaged his flamethrowers.

It wasn't a fair fight. Jack's technology was far, far superior and these were not soldiers, they were bandits. He drew a semicircle of flame around them, sending their horses into a frenzy and keeping the men captive. Then, narrowing his eyes with concentration, he gripped the secondary joystick that controlled the projectiles and began picking off the men, one by one.

Arrows flew at him, but he rolled casually out of the way of the heavy crossbow bolts and Numair's spells took care of the longbow ones. He circled the party easily, keeping them captive with lines of fire and practicing his aim with the projectiles. The flames crackled in the mist, sending up thick plumes of black smoke that smelled of ashes and burnt hair.

Jack had been a soldier long before he had even joined Torchwood. He knew all there was to know about the casual brutality of war. A fighterdyne was anachronistic; this raiding party stood no chance.

Ianto would have been horrified. Jack, on the other hand, was quite accustomed to turning off his emotions.

The Tortallans arrived to find a field on fire, scattered, terrified Scanrans, and Jack circling them like a creature from a nightmare. Really, the battle was over. Three short horn blasts cued Jack to move on; they would take care of it from here. There wasn't much to take care of, anyway.

"I'm going to need to collect the projectiles again, later," Jack said mildly to no one in particular. Of course, they couldn't hear him over the roaring of the engine and he was too far up anyway. Jack figured it would be in bad taste to let his flag fly after all that, so he only flew higher and circled the battlefield slowly. Even from that height, he could smell the smoke from the flamethrowers.

He watched from high above as the Third Company collected the wounded and the ones trapped inside circles of flames as prisoners. The rest had fled.

Jack finished his patrol after the Company had brought the prisoners back to the fort, but he didn't find any more Scanrans. The seasoned soldier in him was ashamed to admit that he was relieved.

When he returned to the fort, the prisoners wailed and babbled as he taxied down and into his hangar. They pointed in horror at the dyne, and Jack thought with both fierce satisfaction and shame that their fear was justified.

Corporal Quasim was waiting for him with shadowed eyes.

"Corporal," Jack greeted him quietly as he stepped out of the hangar.

"Captain," replied Quasim coldly. "Tell me, did you design that thing to do that?" He didn't really need to specify, Jack thought with grim humor.

Jack looked at him and didn't reply. Really, he thought, the answer should be obvious.

Quasim looked him up and down. The man was still attractive, of course, but he was no longer accessible. Jack could see the wall of ice that separated them; Quasim may have been a Corporal and a seasoned soldier but he'd never seen destruction like that before, not from his own side.

"I think," he said slowly, "That you might be something of a monster, Captain Harkness."

"I've heard that before," Jack replied evenly. "I'm going to need to retrieve my projectiles. I only have so many."

"I'll inform my lord," said the Corporal, and he spun on his heel and marched off.

"Right," Jack muttered, and followed.

The prisoners, bound in the fort and to be shipped off to Northwatch later, hissed and snarled at him, faces white with fear. Good, Jack thought grimly as he sat down by one of the fires for dinner. Maybe after this, Warlord Maggur will think twice before going to war with Tortall.

The Tortallan soldiers who had seen the damage caused by the Gwen shifted uneasily when Jack sat. They didn't move, but a hush had fallen over them. Gone were the laughing men from the past two months, the men that joked and played. Jack had been well on his way to working himself into their ranks. He'd been trying to win their trust, if only to solidify their loyalty, but their horror was surprisingly cutting. Jack ignored them, but their fear made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

It's what you asked me to do, he wanted to say. I only did what His Highness wanted. He wanted a weapon, so I built him one. You're all _soldiers, _for god's sake. Surely you've seen war before.

But Jack knew the answer, of course. This was Tortall. War here was all bows and arrows and swords and shields. Maybe catapults, but those were unwieldy. They'd never seen one man singlehandedly and systematically divide and destroy a raiding party before. That was the power of the aerodyne.

Jack ate his meal in silence and when he finished he washed his bowl and strode back to the hangar to clean up the Gwen. Using the flamethrowers had blackened part of the underbelly.

"I'll need to fetch the projectiles tomorrow," he said when Raoul followed him, as he knew he would. "They're made out of Rikash's feathers, and I only have so many."

"Quasim told my lord," said the figure behind him, and it most definitely was not Raoul. Jack blinked and turned to see Kel, shadowed by the setting sun. "Are you alright, Captain?"

Jack blinked at her. "Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, but he didn't even try to smile.

"I saw the damage," she said frankly. "You annihilated them."

Jack shrugged. "I'm the air force," he said. "It's what I do. If you'd fought them yourselves, wouldn't the results be the same?"

Kel thought about it. "Yes," she agreed.

"You've killed," Jack told her.

"Not with fire," she sighed. "But you're right, Captain Harkness. If we had fought them, the results would have been the same. It just—it didn't seem fair, this way."

"It wasn't," Jack said darkly.

"That's war then, is it?" the squire asked, voice slightly bitter.

"Out gunning the other guys? From my experience, yeah, that's war," Jack growled. He turned to walk back to the hangar, feeling as though he'd corrupted something pure. "Maybe that's not what it's like in Tortall. Sorry to have brought the rest of the universe's definition of it in. It's ugly out there, sweetheart." He closed the door, picked up a rag, and strode over to the aerodyne.

The door creaked open quietly behind him. "Kel," he protested softly. She picked up a rag as well and started toward the dyne. She didn't say anything, but her intent was clear.

"Watch out for clumps," was all Jack said. "They're flammable."

Kel nodded silently and started to rub the soot away from the left flamethrower. Jack started on the right one. They didn't speak for two hours, but the company, at least, was welcome.

* * *

The next day, Jack rode Red at the head of a squad, out to the battle field to retrieve those projectiles. Corporal Quasim rode quietly beside him. The man was troubled, that much was clear, but why he had volunteered to come was perplexing. Still, it wasn't necessarily Jack's problem, and he was content to ride in silence.

"Your wars," Quasim began over the thundering of the horses' hooves. Jack glanced at him. His voice was low enough that those behind them would be unable to hear, but clear enough for Jack to understand. "The wars in the lands you came from. They must have been brutal."

"You have no idea," Jack replied. Each century got worse, he thought darkly. From swords to guns to bombs, flying machines to spaceships; as weapons evolved, the more awful wars got. It was a fact of life.

"I was in the Immortals War," Quasim stated flatly. "With monsters out of nightmares and mages in the battlefield, but I have never seen anything like what you did yesterday. I've seen catapults with liquid fire, sure, Hurroks that attack from above, basilisks that'll turn you to stone and spidrins that'll rip you limb from limb. I've seen men disemboweled and skewered and shot with arrows, mages that'll rip the ground in two and throw fire, but I have never seen one man destroy an entire raiding party with one machine."

Jack shrugged. "Do you want me to apologize?" he asked wryly.

"No," Quasim said. "Not at all. I'm just glad you're on our side, not theirs. I'm not going to say that I overreacted, because I don't think I did, but I do apologize for calling you a monster."

Oh, Tortall, Jack thought with something akin to tenderness. So innocent. "That's alright," Jack assured him. "You should see the world I come from."

"I hope I never do," said the Corporal darkly.

Jack laid an affectionate hand on Red's bent neck. His gelding huffed and tossed his head mid-stride. "You won't," Jack said, too quietly for anyone but Red to hear. "I'll make sure of it."


	20. War: Scanran Killing Machines

Disclaimer: The Scanran killing machines, as well as anything and anyone Tortallan or Scanran belong to Tamora Pirece. In fact, the battle described is from Squire, although it's a bit different; the Scanrans would use different tactics, since the aerodyne is involved. Raoul's demands for Numair are direct quotes from Squire. Jack and Ianto, of course, belong to the BBC

(The thing with the fog is also from Squire, for those of you who don't know the Tortall series. Kel shoots the mage. Jack, of course, would not be able to see this.)

* * *

**War: Scanran Killing Machines**

The skirmishes in the beginning of the war were limited, even though Jack patrolled up and down the boarder, looking for trouble. A few of the men of the Third Company were wounded, and one man died in a wolf trap made by the Scanrans.

For the most part, the raiding parties stayed away from Sir Raoul's fort as though they knew, somehow, that Jack was there. Jack flew far from the fort, up and down the border, and found troops for himself. Fighting troops or raiding parties with an aerodyne was like shooting fish in a barrel, really, and it was almost depressing. Sometimes he was able to help a traveling band of Tortallan merchants, or a small town, and those were mostly good days—except when they weren't, when the Tortallans were just as frightened of him as the Scanrans.

It happens, Jack sometimes shrugged to himself. People fear what they can't understand. It didn't do much to ease the loneliness, though. Ianto was still at Northwatch, spying on Scanrans, and the Third Company was boisterous but wary, especially after they had seen the kind of damage Jack could do with the Gwen. Jack was an unknown quantity, and despite having charmed his way into their ranks, they still did not quite trust him.

The days had become monotonous. Kel was a friend, and Jack liked Corporal Quasim and Sir Raoul among others, but war was war, and as the only air force Captain available to cover the entire Tortallan side of the border, Jack was stretched thin, patrolling so much that he had started to dream about it.

Jack had just taken off early one morning, and he was beginning his"Farewell" lap around the fort, his flag snapping in the wind behind the Gwen, when there was a sudden horn call. It was a signal; Jack frowned as he listened. A small army, he thought, decoding the various blasts: not raiders, as it had been all summer. Jack spiraled up higher into the air, trying to see.

The Gwen really wasn't made for spying. The two front wheels, in a style called conventional back on earth, mostly blocked the view. Jack had liked flying conventional airplanes – it took a sort of finesse that he enjoyed – so it had been by personal preference that he had designed his aerodyne to look like this. He was kicking himself for it now, though, because it meant he couldn't see down. The Tosh had her wheels in a tricycle style with one wheel in the front and two in the back, which was easier to fly and best for spying. That would have made more sense, really.

Jack leaned to peer over the left wheel and squinted.

There. A glint of sunlight off of metal, where there should be no metal. There was indeed an army, and it was marching away from Raoul's fort, but they seemed to be going toward Northwatch. _Northwatch. _Ianto was stationed at Northwatch. Jack felt a thrill of fear, and hoped to the Graveyard Hag, as she was technically Ianto's patron, that she would keep his lover safe. The Tosh was not well armed.

He let his red _danger_ flag fly, before spiraling back down to the fort to tell the others.

Sir Raoul raised Jack's own flag, the signal for him to land again. Jack sighed and came down hard and fast, cursing quietly to himself when he botched his landing because he was distracted. Lucky the aerodynes didn't have propellers like airplanes, otherwise he'd be in trouble. He'd landed on the two front wheels rather than all three at once, and the dyne had lurched forward and down. The nose dipped, not enough to be damaged but enough so that, had there been propellers, they would've scraped the ground.

"Squire Kel saw troops heading to Northwatch," Flyndan, Sir Raoul's second in command, informed Jack from horseback once the Gwen trundled to a stop and Jack had kicked his door open. Flyn was a stocky man, fair skinned with reddish hair and deep, soulful brown eyes. Like all of the men of the Own he was built, very muscular and rather attractive, although Jack preferred men like Domitan or Quasim or Raoul himself, if he was being choosy. Frankly, Jack was not often choosy. Flyn's voice, with the faintest accent—apparently a northern accent in Tortall, who knew—was low and commanding. "We need people at the logging camp, the mines and the town, and there's a merchant caravan on their way to Riversedge," he continued. "My lord is taking five squads and would like you to follow, unless you have a better suggestion."

"Yeah, I saw them too," Jack agreed, and then looked at Raoul's second thoughtfully. Riversedge was a little town near the fort that was ripe for the plucking for raiders, but he didn't like to bring the flamethrowers too close—Jack was afraid he'd start a fire in the settlement, even though it sat close to the riverbanks after which it was named.

A merchant caravan, though. If they were in the open, then Jack could smoke out the raiders, leaving the merchants able to run. "I'll follow Raoul," he added. "I can try to ambush the raiders at an angle, so I don't catch any Tortallans in the fire."

Flyndan nodded and then turned his horse to canter back to camp.

"We ought to get speaking spells installed in the fort," Jack muttered to himself, turning the Gwen and preparing for takeoff again. "This was a waste of fuel."

As soon as he got back into the air the gates opened, and Sir Raoul rode out on his distinctive black warhorse with Kel, his squire, at his side on her strawberry roan nightmare of a gelding. Jack let loose his flag and soared high above them, trying to see into the distance. His flag, with the black phoenix and the octagon on a red field, snapped in the wind behind the Gwen.

He almost wished he hadn't tried to see. Now there was smoke coming from Northwatch, from a fire large enough to send a black column to the sky. Ianto was there, Jack thought fretfully. Well, no, that wasn't true. Ianto _might_ be there. Ianto might be spying off in Scanra, and nowhere near there. Jack swallowed. Orders were orders, he told himself bitterly. It took every ounce of willpower he had to stay above Raoul's troop and not fly to Ianto's aid.

He could also see a second raiding party heading to Riversedge, with two large ambling things with them—were those _giants? _They seemed to have a wagon with them as well, which was odd, given that they were certainly not innocent travelers, but a war party.

A speaking spell, Jack thought, frustrated. It would be great to be able to communicate all this. He missed having comms.

He reeled in his own flag, and let the triangular, red _danger_ one fly. Below, the train paused, and Jack banked to see why; a tree rustled as someone climbed it. Ah. A lookout; good. After a moment, Raoul had his troop pick up a trot, heading for the town.

They reached Riversedge soon enough, and Jack caught an updraft, spiraling until he got a signal. He reeled in the _danger_ flag, although from this height he could see the smoke at Northwatch, and the glinting armor of the Scanran troop marching. A mirror flashed at him from the town and Jack glanced at it to decipher the code—follow Raoul, as ordered. Jack engaged his flamethrowers twice in the air: message received.

Three squads followed Raoul out. Jack assumed he'd left two behind with the town, in exchange for taking the aerodyne. Jack followed as the troop below started at a trot. From his high vantage point, he scouted ahead.

There, about a mile away; the caravan was backed against tumbled boulders at the foot of a hill, where a village called Forgotten Well had once stood. There were fallen wagons, turned on their side—it seemed that the merchant caravan had been attacked. Jack gunned his engine and roared ahead of Raoul's troops; the mile was a very short distance for the aerodyne. Above the battle, he let loose the _danger_ flag before reeling it in and nosediving on the Scanrans, who seemed to be regrouping, re-forming in their rows from a previous battle with the merchants.

They shrieked and scattered at the sight of the dyne, and the Gwen howled down from the sky. Jack engaged his flamethrowers to draw a line of fire to the right, just as Raoul's troops slammed into the left. Squeezed, the Scanrans fought the Tortallans like wild things, before escaping north to the woods.

Perfect, Jack thought. He arched away, up into the sky—let Raoul deal with the merchants—and followed the enemy troop. Near the civilians and Raoul's squads, Jack was reluctant to try his projectiles and use his fire too much for fear of causing damage to his own side. The trees covered the Scanrans and extended far north, but the moment the Scanrans stepped foot out into the meadow, even near the caravan, Jack could have them and he could also warn Raoul when they got close. He circled slowly, waiting and watching. Below, the line of fire he had drawn in the grass smoked and cracked ominously.

The Tortallans regrouped; Jack saw them split in three to cover all sides of the battlefield. But they were not the only ones; there was movement in the trees. Jack circled slowly and loosed his _danger_ flag. The Tortallan troops tensed visibly.

And then—nothing. Jack blinked. There was no movement, and no sound. He was sure there had been an army here just a moment ago. Fog crept slowly into the field. He dove low, checking the tree line. What the hell?

_Fwump! _A crossbow bolt lodged itself in the belly of the Gwen; it rattled when Jack rolled and spiraled up in surprise. Okay. Definitely Scanrans there, and probably a mage, to have spelled that thing to cut through Numair's charms.

Mage. Right. That was why Jack couldn't see anything—someone was spelling the fog to block the view.

Well, that was annoying, he thought irritably, squinting through the fog as it thickened. He loosed his red flag anyway, wondering how the hell he was supposed to communicate that there was a mage down there. The crossbow bolt in the Gwen's belly made the dyne balance awkwardly, and it rattled disconcertingly above the sound of the engine. Jack compensated, but the wind whined and the dyne rolled, engines roaring.

Suddenly, there was a sharp noise as someone screamed below. Swords clashed and clanged - they were fighting in the fog, Jack thought with alarm — and he couldn't see them.

Fog was dangerous to a pilot, especially when he wanted to dive. Jack needed to see the ground; otherwise he would not know when to pull up and might crash. With the battle covered in fog, he could not dive or frighten the Scanrans, or use his projectiles. Frustrated that he was so easily beaten, Jack dove as low as he could, skimming the upper boundary of the thick mist. He tried his flamethrowers; the bright orange fire disappeared into the gray without burning it up, useless. Damn and damn.

And then, as though someone had flipped a switch, the fog disappeared to reveal Scanrans charging on the field, bows and arrows and swords and all; the Tortallans rained down arrows, fighting blindly.

Okay, Jack thought in surprise. Guess someone killed the mage. He reeled in his _danger_ flag and began to strategize. Where would be the best spot to draw a line of fire? He watched the battle carefully for a moment, and he noticed the two men by the treeline, sitting horseback. Officers, he realized with sudden, vicious glee. Gotcha. Jack turned sharply on a wingtip, intent on the men on their horses.

He'd been practicing with his projectiles.

Jack dove and scattered the Scanran troops and even, unfortunately, some Tortallans who were fighting them, but it was a necessary sacrifice because he needed a clean shot. A crossbow bolt whizzed by his ear and Jack didn't care; he swooped up and at five hundred feet let loose a projectile. The Stormwing-feather throwing star whipped through the air and neatly gutted one of the two officers. From above, he saw the other officer had two Tortallan arrows embedded in his thigh and shoulder. The Scanrans retreated to the woods again to regroup. Jack glided slowly, waiting. They would be back.

The Tortallan ranks shifted, anxious, regrouping as well. Jack did a slow lap around the battlefield, flying his danger flag, because there was movement still in the trees. In fact—

Oh, shit.

Jack reeled in his red flag and gunned his engines, racing to the nearest edge of the clearing before engaging his flamethrowers. The man trying to climb the tree shrieked when Jack set fire to it; he could hear it over the Gwen's engines. Suddenly arrows whistled from the Tortallans, aiming for the Scanrans that had climbed trees to shoot from above. Good, Jack thought. We'll win this one, easy, even with the trees.

And then, out of absolutely nowhere, all hell broke loose.

Something massive and dark lunged from the south, away from the Scanran troops. Jack saw it out of the corner of his eye and veered, alarmed, just in time to see a Tortallan squad on the far end of the meadow brake in panic, horns blaring. He gunned his engines, racing to—to— what the hell _was _that?

It must've been seven feet tall, Jack thought frantically as the Gwen screamed towards it. Its head was dark and domed, eyes deep set like a Cyberman's, although it lacked the bar at the top of its head. The dull metal body looked like it was made of iron, not shining steel, and its limbs were—horrible. They were metal, with fine chains and rods that acted as muscles, and they had extra joints made of pulleys—each limb had three, as well as five knife-fitted fingers on each hand, and bladed toes. Jack dove sharply at the creature and veered away just in time—a long, whip like tail, tipped with a ball of spikes, nearly slammed him to the ground.

That machine. That thing that had scared Ianto so badly over the winter; Jack suddenly recognized it, and it was little wonder that it had frightened his lover so. The dark, metal monster dropped to all fours and leaped after the panicking Tortallan squad, gnashing sharpened, broken-glass teeth that looked horribly unnatural in iron, awful lips.

Okay, Jack thought to himself, heart pumping adrenalin through his veins. That was up there with the nastiest piece of work he'd ever seen. What the hell was that thing even supposed to _be?_

He turned, low and fast, and rushed at the creature again.

It leaped for the Gwen and Jack engaged his flamethrowers as it neared, to no effect. The creature could jump high; its knife-like fingers, white-hot from the fire, scraped along the Gwen's right wing as it grabbed at the dyne. Jack lost altitude—not that he could've been higher than fifteen feet to begin with, but as he fell he had a frantic moment to contemplate crashing before he corrected the dyne and kept her flying. Gasping, he rolled and the Gwen's wing scraped the ground hard; the shudder that went through the dyne sank into Jack's bones. He had enough speed and he was a good enough pilot that he could stay in the air - Jack arched away, trailing a clump of dirt from the wing, flying wobbly but true.

The crossbow bolt embedded in the Gwen's belly rattled, and the right wing was deeply scratched, so it whistled in the rushing wind and the balance was all wrong. This was bad. This was really, really bad. Heart pounding, Jack turned to make another pass.

The thing leaped at him before he could complete the turn, lunging but luckily missing, as Jack was too high. He fired a projectile and the creature screeched as the Stormwing throwing star embedded itself into its chest. It slashed with a disproportionately-wide hand, bladed fingers outstretched, but Jack was too far for it to reach.

He had twelve projectiles left, Jack thought dimly. At least they could break through iron. Right then. He needed a plan. He needed a very good pl—

A massive bolt hit the side of the aerodyne with such force that Jack lost control, yawing and skidding in the air. He gasped, rolled, trying to regain his balance, but between the bolt in the belly and the gauges on the right wing it was touch and go. Another bolt slammed into him, and the dyne rolled again with the force of it.

"What the—" Jack cried aloud and brought the shuddering dyne about. Frantic, he looked down to see another dark shape, crouched at the edge of the forest.

There was a second one. Oh god, there was a second one. And this one was armed. There was a thing like a giant crossbow on its shoulder—specially designed to take down aerodynes, no doubt.

Hell. Jack spiraled high into the air, out of range to go get his bearings.

Below, the battle raged.

The first of those things had gone off to fight the soldiers while Jack had been distracted by the one with the crossbow. The Gwen moaned and rattled in protest as the bolts sticking out of the wooden body changed the aerodynamics of the thing, but she would still fly. She would have to still fly. Jack dove, with the intent to help the soldiers.

A third bolt hit and he yelled as the dyne yawed, threatening to tailspin out of control. The thing with the crossbow lunged, but Jack managed to jerk the dyne away just in time and as it reached bladed fingers toward him, he fired a projectile. It glanced off, but it ripped through the chains that controlled the monster's shoulder; the thing's left arm fell as a dead weight to its side. Jack fired again, now that he was in range, and the Stormwing feathers flew true; they embedded themselves into the dome of the creature's head.

"_Daddy!_" wailed the voice of a child, and the monster collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. The sound of the frightened child's voice, wherever it had come from, slid like a cube of ice down Jack's spine. His breath hitched, but now was not the time for a panic attack. He turned, surveying the battle.

The second monster was tied down, with ropes to trees and rocks even though it struggled. As Jack watched, a figure that he thought might have been Keladry of Mindelan drove something into its head as the monster thrashed and fought its bonds.

It went still, and a strange, white mist rose out of the gaping hole in its skull, just like the one Jack had just killed.

Right, he thought dimly. That's that taken care of. He brought his dyne about, rattling and beaten and brisling like a porcupine with the four bolts in its belly. The Scanran soldiers had regrouped.

Right, Jack thought again. Before it hadn't been personal; it had just been war. Now he was angry.

He dove at the enemy soldiers and scorched them. The battle was over very quickly after that; without their killing devices, the remaining Scanrans fled. Jack, furious and scared, chased them as far as he could, blasting his flamethrowers through holes in the canopy of the forest they tried to hide in. Finally, exhausted, he turned back to the field and patrolled in long, arching sweeps.

The Scanrans were gone, as far as he could tell. Jack didn't realize he was shaking until he tried to let loose his blue _all safe_ flag. Below, Raoul signaled him to land with a mirror.

"What," Jack demanded as soon as the Gwen was on the ground and he could kill the engine, "The _hell _was that?"

Sir Raoul was standing beside the big right wheel of the aerodyne, a white bandage wrapped around his head and shoulder. In the beginning of the battle he had taken half a squad to fight the two giants that Jack had seen earlier. Red splotches painted the bandages on his arm. "You know, I was going to ask you the same thing," the big knight said wryly. "Come on, Captain Harkness, down you get," Raoul sighed. "I'm sure you'd like dinner, and we should inspect that thing. Then I'm going to send you off—your aerodyne can fly fast, right?"

Jack nodded slowly. "She's damaged, but yeah, faster than horse-travel."

"Good. Send for General Vanget, and then I want you to bring word to Corus. I want Numair Salmalin up here, now. I don't care where he is or what it takes, I want him here yesterday."

"You and me both," Jack agreed, and looked at the great, black shapes that were the wrecks of the creatures. He slid out of the cockpit.

It didn't work as well as he planned. He missed the front right wheel and instead staggered to the ground. His legs felt like soup. Raoul steadied him. "Easy," the knight muttered. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Jack mumbled, straightening himself. "I'm fine." The adrenalin was starting to wear down, and exhaustion tugged at his bones. He managed to stand, feeling wobbly.

"Brief me," Raoul said, a guiding hand on Jack's shoulder as they approached the creature that was tied up by the soldiers. Jack took a breath and began with the Scanrans in the trees, then the breaking squad and the first creature; he told Raoul about the second one with the crossbow, and the quick and dirty fight that had followed.

"I'm pretty sure it said 'daddy,'" he finished, voice carefully steady. He suddenly ached for the safety of Ianto's arms. Children, anywhere, still held the power to break him, and the worst thing was that he knew it. Jack was a soldier, but behind his own defenses he really wanted to collapse into babbling terror. It had sounded like a _child. _He had killed it. _Was_ it a child? Had he killed another kid, someone's daughter or son? Raoul wouldn't know about Jack's phobia of children, but Ianto—

And then utter horror slammed into him with the force of a train. _"Northwatch!" _he gasped, turning to look north, although of course the trees obstructed his view.

"Easy," Raoul murmured, patting Jack's shoulder. "You saw the fires, did you?"

Jack nodded, staring at the treeline, but the smoke wasn't visible from the ground.

"Your lad's supposed to be there," Raoul said slowly. It was the first time in five months anyone had acknowledged Ianto as more than Jack's colleague. Jack nodded again, speechless.

Raoul regarded him.

"Bear the message," he ordered. Jack blinked.

"What?"

"Go to Northwatch. The fighting should be done by now. Get me General Vanget and Numair Salmalin, Captain."

"_Thank you,_" Jack told him with feeling and bolted to the Gwen. Her engine sputtered; Jack had used most of her fuel. "Raoul!" he bellowed over his shoulder. "I need—"

"—Power?" one of the Gifted men in Osbern's squad smiled wryly. He reached out and touched the belly of the Gwen. "I can't give you a lot—"

"It's fine," Jack said, waving the apology away. "Will you cut off the shafts of those bolts, while you're there?" Normally, Jack would have made a joke about shafts, but his mind was already at Northwatch, with Ianto, rather than the crossbow bolts sticking out of the belly of the Gwen.

Without a word, the soldier did as he was asked. Jack saluted him and brought the Gwen about, engines roaring. He took off swiftly and didn't slow down or look back, screaming at top speed to Northwatch, where the fires still burned.

_Ianto, _he thought with dread. _Ianto, Ianto, Ianto—  
_

_

* * *

A/N: Cliffhangar? Why yes, yes it is!  
_


	21. War: The Fires at Northwatch

DISCLAIMER: "Go you safe and keep you safe and come safe home to me" is from Elizabeth Kerner's Song in the Silence series. Tortall belongs to Tamora Pierce and anyone from Torchwood belongs to the BBC.

* * *

**War: The Fires at Northwatch**

The Toshiko Sato Mark I glided quietly, half way to the border to Scanra. Ianto was sitting back in his seat, relaxing as he watched the Vassa river come closer and closer. The flight wasn't a long one, but the hour of quiet was something he enjoyed.

He was flying with the wind, so he would probably get there before the full hour, really. He pulled out his spyglass and flew higher, wheeling on a heat thermal, imitating a bird of prey. Ianto squinted over the border, and then the dyne turned with the wind current.

The dyne faced back to the Tortall, briefly, where a huge column of smoke rose into the air. Ianto gaped.

That was Northwatch, he thought faintly—had they been attacked? Ianto wheeled the Tosh in alarm and pulled the throttle, engaging the engines so the dyne screamed as she flew fast toward the burning fort, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing.

The Tosh Sato was armed with a grand total of four projectiles on the tips of her wings. Ianto was a very good shot, but four projectiles were not very many. The dyne was designed for spying, after all, not battles. He could divebomb them, maybe, but that would only scare them, and maybe break their ranks. But there was no way Ianto would fly away from this battle, simply because he was not armed. Northwatch was his base. Alarmed, he felt for Rikash.

The Stormwing's mind was all faded red and blue. Ianto got a whiff of emotion—anticipation?—but it was gone before he was sure of what it was. Rikash was fine. His brother was, after all, a creature made to live in war-zones, Ianto thought with regret. Relieved, Ianto pushed the Tosh to go faster. The engines howled.

The fort rushed closer, as did the smoke and the fire. Ianto banked the Tosh and then swooped low, causing Scanran troops, assembled on the burning fields and on the edges of the forest, to yell and flinch. They didn't break ranks, though, Ianto thought with alarm. These were trained soldiers.

A crossbow bolt whistled past the Tosh; Ianto rolled out of the way. The Tortallans were shouting, and General Vanget had a _danger_ flag hoisted onto the pole along with a green striped one; orders for Ianto to stay where he was, that they could handle this attack and did not need him to get help. Ianto nodded to himself, not that anyone could see it.

Right, okay. Vanget thought they could handle it. Ianto swooped low again, trying to harass the Scanrans into retreating. If he could find one of their officers, he could use one of his projectiles—

Without warning the Tosh jerked, shuddered, and whipped out of Ianto's control, yawing sharply to the left. Ianto yelped and corrected it, thinking frantically to himself that aerodynes with tricycle landing gear like the Tosh weren't supposed to be prone to tailspins—what the hell was that? He looked back

A bolt, huge and metal, was bristling from the dyne's tail, making her skid and yaw in the air. He looked right, trying to see where the hell that had come from, and caught his breath.

On the battlefield, something dark moved.

"Oh, shit," Ianto whispered, recognizing the thing. "Shit, shit, shit." He gunned the engine.

The Tosh screamed, and the great, metal monster with the domed head and eyes from Ianto's nightmares turned. It gnashed awful, broken-glass teeth and swiped at him with a disproportionately huge hand, fingers tipped with knives. Of course, the Tosh was far too high for the monster to reach.

Ianto aimed for one of those awful eyes, something a lot like hate uncoiling in his belly. He didn't care that it was Scanran, and apparently a machine, and from this world. It bore resemblance to a Cyberman, and that was enough to bring Torchwood one to mind, and to trigger Ianto's memories and nightmares of a devastating battle long gone. Jack was not the only one with sore spots.

The thing lowered the crossbow on its shoulder and the Tosh suddenly pitched, nose jerking upward and bucking, almost sending Ianto flying from his seat. The crossbow on the creature's shoulder had fired; now a bolt the thickness of Ianto's leg was protruding from his dyne's belly. He grasped the controls and rolled grimly, the bolt rattling and whining. As he rolled, he coolly let loose a projectile.

Ianto knew about these things. He was a spy, after all, and while only a few of them had crossed Tortallan borders, he'd seen them in Scanra. Or, rather, he'd seen an abandoned warehouse where they seemed to have been constructed. The head, the eyes were the weak points. All of the broken ones he'd seen had had holes in their heads.

The projectile slammed sideways into the creature's skull and it jerked, wailing. "_Mama!_" a child's voice sobbed, and the monster toppled over, like a puppet without strings. Ianto blinked, confused and disturbed at the voice, but he spiraled up, looking for more.

The Scanrans had attacked from the south, a path unexpected as their country was to the north. They were burning the brush, starting fires to destroy crops and frighten the Tortallan troops, but the Tortallans were not cowed. General Vanget haMinch had sent out several squads, and from his high vantage point Ianto could see a squad of Tortallans sneaking around the backs of the Scanrans, to attack from the left rather than pushing them back to the fort.

Ianto did not know much about battle tactics. Jack had trained him a little, and Ianto was good at chess, for what it was worth, so he could work out the plan: Tortallans from the fort defend from the front, force the Scanrans back and then the other squad attacks from the left, squeezing them, hopefully making them retreat to the right, away from the town.

Something metallic and dark lumbered from the woods, catching Ianto's eye.

"Shit, shit, shit," he whispered to himself, and drew the Tosh into a nosedive, sighting his weapons to the second metal monster. The bolts in the tail and the belly of his dyne rattled and whistled in the wind.

The thing must have seen him or heard him because at the last moment it wrenched itself to the side and Ianto overshot, turning just in time to avoid crashing into the canopy of the forest that lined the fields of the fort; as he turned another bolt slammed into the Tosh's tail, and this time the dyne did tailspin. He yelped, jerked the throttle, and lost control.

"Ianto!"

Stormwing magic gripped his dyne, and Rikash halted the Tosh, hauling the dyne up high in the air. Ianto panted, adrenalin coursing through his veins and he stared at his brother, who was breathing heavily from the strain of magically holding up a massive, wood-and bronze flying machine.

"Don't just sit there, you idiot, start your stupid engines so I can let you go!" Rikash gasped. "Does it _look_ like I can hold you for long?"

"Right," Ianto muttered, startled, and gunned his engines. The Tosh roared, and Rikash released her, sending Ianto rocketing forward, high enough that he was out of range of the second monster.

Rikash followed, flying fast and yelling over the noise of the engines. "What in flight's name are you doing here? You're supposed to be spying!"

"I was. I spied that my base was in danger," Ianto replied with a mildness that he didn't feel, searching again for the other creature. There; before Rikash could get in another word, Ianto dove, eyes narrowed and heart pounding.

"_Ianto!_" Rikash's panicked voice echoed behind him.

The creature below lowered its crossbow and aimed. Ianto could see its eyes—dark, malevolent and cold as it sighted to the aerodyne. In his mind, a memory of a shrill voice sounded: _You are unfit for conversion. Delete! Delete! Delete! _

I don't think so, Ianto thought furiously, and fired.

There was a howling, screaming roar and Ianto swerved by instinct, startled, when the Gwen Cooper Mark I came out of nowhere and flung two more throwing stars into the skull of the creature Ianto had already hit. "_Papa!_" wailed a small voice as the thing died. Ianto arched the Tosh away, soaring higher, as Jack brought his dyne in a shallow dive and yawed, drawing an impressive half-circle of fire on the ground, scorching the Scanran soldiers that had been forming a line below.

"Jack?" Ianto gasped through the speaking spell, eyes on the new arch of flame that painted the battlefield orange and black.

"Tell me you're alright," Jack begged, his voice hard and terse.

"I'm fine—what are you doing here?"

"I'm fetching General Vanget and Numair Salmalin. But I'm also making sure you don't die. How many projectiles do you have left?" Jack's voice was clipped and businesslike, but Ianto could hear the fear under it.

"Two," Ianto told him, so startled that he couldn't really think of what to say. He hadn't seen Jack in five months.

"Good. The Scanran officers are to the back; I'll take care of the soldiers." Jack's voice was grim.

"Right," Ianto said, brain kicking into gear. He had a job to do.

He banked the Tosh and soared to the back of the battle, searching down below. There: three men on horseback.

"There's three of them," Ianto told the speaking spell. "I can get two and run off the third."

"Do it," Jack said fiercely. Ianto nodded, not that Jack could see him.

He pushed the throttle up and nosedived, frowning to himself when the men below pointed in alarm. The must have been shouting at each other, although Ianto could not hear them over the scream of the Tosh's engines and the howl of the wind. The men scattered but Ianto took aim and fired; one man went down.

Ianto banked the Tosh, fifty feet from the ground. Arrows brushed the dyne's underbelly, but Numair had spelled it against longbows; none stuck. A crossbow bolt thudded into her woodwork, but it was a small one, not like those things from the metal creatures. Ianto compensated, wheeling coldly and looking for the other officer. It was short work hunting him down, and then he made the Tosh's engines roar as he chased the third man, who finally yelled some garbled equivalent of "Retreat!" before disappearing into the woods. Ianto arched away, flying over the battle now that his target was gone.

It was over. The Scanran horses were panicking, rider-less in the flaming half-circle and Jack was chasing an entire squad into the woods, picking them off with his projectiles and threatening them with his flamethrower. The Tortallan troops were driving out the others, fighting them and taking prisoners if they could. As Ianto watched, Jack swooped up, away from the battle, and brought the Gwen over to the Tosh.

Ianto gaped, finally seeing the shape of Jack's dyne for the first time since they had parted five months ago.

There were things sticking out of the belly of the Gwen, crossbow bolts cut jaggedly as not to protrude too far. Scorches marked the belly and the flamethrowers from heavy use, and there were deep gauges on one wing. The other wing was jammed, the bronze scrunched and the wood cracked—had Jack hit the ground? His dyne looked awful. Clearly, the Gwen had seen action.

"Jack. Are you alright?" Ianto asked anxiously as Jack approached. It was a stupid question, really.

"No," Ianto's lover said flatly. Ianto's breath hitched, alarmed. The Gwen banked and started circling. Ianto made to join him, heart twisting in concern, but Jack said, "Make a sweep of the other side of the field, will you? I want to give the all clear before we land."

"Right," Ianto said, and swerved away. Work comes first. Damn it all.

He didn't rush his sweeps—Ianto was nothing if not meticulous—but he wanted them to be over quickly. The Tosh was made for spying, so it was easy to see that the Scanrans had gone. He reached Jack's side of the field quickly, and could not suppress a smile when he saw his lover leaning out of the cockpit, trying to see the ground over the unwieldy front wheels of the Gwen. The fighterdyne was not made for spying.

"I'll handle it, Jack," Ianto told him gently. "Are you here to see the General?"

"Yes," Jack sighed. Ianto saw him sit back in his seat and touch the controls; the Gwen swerved, making room for Ianto to fly by. Jack sounded exhausted. "Raoul wants the General and Numair to come look at those—things."

"I kept on telling George to get Numair up here, but no one ever listens to the spy," Ianto said wryly, hiding his concern. "Numair has apparently been busy working with Jon. Something to do with a jewel."

"Dominion Jewel. Gives His Highness control of the land, although apparently it also causes famines and droughts," Jack muttered. "Raoul was telling me about it the other day. But I think we need Numair up here more."

"I agree." Ianto finished the sweep of Jack's side of the field. "All clear, by the way." He let loose his blue flag. The Tosh shuddered with the added friction as the flag unfurled into the wind.

"Thanks, Ianto," murmured Jack. The Gwen arched away, making for the field that Ianto used as a runway.

"You're welcome," Ianto replied, following.

Ianto caught a heat thermal while Jack landed the Gwen, wheeling slowly in the sky and watching the field below. The cleanup had begun as soon as Ianto gave the all clear. Tortallan soldiers had started to push the bodies of the dead toward the forest or the river, depending on where they were lying.

Something glinted silver out of the corner of Ianto's eye. He looked up—Rikash was sharing his thermal. He stared at Ianto long and hard for a moment, assessing his condition. Then he nodded, satisfied, and looked down.

"Pity, that," the Stormwing remarked dryly, indicating the cleanup. "Would've been quite the feast, brother-mine."

Ianto glanced over. The Stormwing glided slowly alongside Ianto's aerodyne. The Hag only knew where Rikash had been during the battle, but it seemed he'd joined Ianto for the time being.

"I find that repulsing," Ianto told his brother frankly. Rikash grinned at him, showing sharp silver teeth.

"As well you should, sweetheart, as well you should. But I think lover boy wants you to land. Will you tell them to leave a few in the woods for the animals? I really would like something to eat." Rikash nodded again to the cleanup.

Ianto didn't dignify that with a response. Rikash laughed brightly as Ianto turned out of the thermal and spiraled down. His landing was two-pointed and graceful, but Jack didn't meet him as the Tosh's engines powered down. That was odd, Ianto thought with growing concern. He pushed open his door and flipped down the small ladder he used to climb from the cockpit. Ianto staggered when his feet reached the ground, feeling a little wobbly from the adrenalin.

"Cap'n?" asked a soft voice. He steadied himself and looked up at the shadow that had fallen over him.

Sergeant Damian, a friend he'd made, was sitting on a horse and holding Anwen's reins. "Cap'n Harkness went with the General into the fort, sir," he explained as Ianto reached for his mare. "Says he wants the General and Master Numair to go down to Lord Raoul's fort to look at those… those _things_." His voice had dropped to a hushed whisper.

"I've been informed, Sergeant," Ianto said, tossing the reins over Anwen's head. His mare brought her nose down and nuzzled his shoulder, concerned. Ianto smiled a little and patted her cheek. "I'm alright, love," he told her in an undertone. For some reason, the chestnut inspired pet names, whereas Ianto could hardly imagine calling Jack something so sentimental. Anwen huffed a little, but seemed assured. Ianto clambered onto her back. She flicked an ear at him once he was steady.

"Right then," Damian said. "Just—just keeping you informed. Have you ever seen them before, Cap'n?" He didn't really need to specify.

"Over the border," Ianto sighed. "But never here. Will you have a squad watch the Tosh, Sergeant?"

"Yessir," saluted the Sergeant. Ianto nudged Anwen back toward the fort. His mare ducked her head and went slowly, like she had in Ianto's early days in Tortall, when he hadn't known how to ride and she'd been afraid that he would fall. Or, at least, Daine had always said that his mare was afraid that she would throw him by accident.

"I'm not going to fall," he told the back of Anwen's head, although in truth he was feeling a little wobbly. His horse snorted dubiously, but started to trot.

"Better," Ianto mumbled.

As soon as he was clear of the doors, Jack found him. Ianto's Co-Captain strode right alongside Anwen and then stood there, looking up at Ianto, eyes soulful and blue. "Jack?" Ianto murmured, surprised by the pain apparent in his lover's eyes. So much for a happy reunion.

"I'm to fetch Numair," Jack whispered. He reached up and touched Ianto's leg. Anwen turned her head to watch, and Ianto rested his palm on Jack's hand. It was cold.

"Jack," Ianto whispered again, worried. Jack looked—bad. His face was white and fine tremors skittered along his arms. "Jack, the Gwen can't take passengers," Ianto said, instead of asking if he was alright. Clearly, he wasn't.

"I know. But I can get the message quickly." Jack's hand tightened on Ianto's leg. Ianto caressed it with his thumb. He wanted very badly to kiss Jack, to comfort his clearly shaken lover, but they were standing in the courtyard of Northwatch, very much in public. What had happened in Raoul's fort? "I—I miss you," Jack added, hushed as though imparting a great secret.

Ianto's heart twisted. "I miss you too," he replied, equally hushed. He wanted to slide off Anwen's back and take Jack into his arms, but he also feared to break the strange spell that seemed to have fallen over them. He feared to startle this weird, unnatural stillness. "Jack, what happened?"

"They—they sound like children," Jack whispered, but his voice cracked anyway. A tremor visibly slid down his spine.

"Oh, _Jack—_"

Now Ianto did slide off Anwen's back and he gripped Jack's arms. Jack's eyes were wide, shocked, and he looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown. The good-natured mask with the cheerful grin had dropped suddenly, and Ianto could see Jack's distress plainly. Jack had told Ianto years ago about Steven, and it had eased him. But even now, despite his adoration of Kitten, Jack was still wary around children. Just because Ianto knew about the trauma, and just because Jack lived with it, didn't mean that it had vanished. Ianto wanted to wrap that vulnerability up and protect it from the world, but before he could do anything more than look up into those blue eyes, the General interrupted.

"Captain Harkness!" Vanget said sharply. Jack jerked out of it, mask shuttering his face in a wide, utterly feigned grin. Fury snapped in Ianto at the sight of it.

"On my way, General!" Jack called back cheerfully and shot Ianto one last desperate look before trotting off to the Gwen.

Ianto breathed in sharply, devastated by the look in Jack's eyes. "No, wait—" he said and grasped Jack's arm. "General Vanget, request to go with Captain Harkness to Corus," he asked on impulse. "If we get there soon enough, I could insulate the hold in the Tosh and I could take Master Salmalin as a passenger. He'd get here twice as fast with me as he would on horseback."

"Crammed in your hold? He wouldn't fit," Jack mumbled, sounding at least a little amused. Ianto squeezed his hand.

"Captain Jones, we need you in Scanra," the General scolded, gray eyes fixed pointedly on Ianto's hand gripping Jack's arm. Ianto felt his temper flare at the General's clear disapproval. Usually, Ianto liked Vanget; the man was respectful and polite as well as authoritative. He was good at what he was—a general. But the irritation in the man's eyes, that wary look of disgust, made Ianto want to punch his face in. He loved Jack. If Vanget didn't like it, then too bad.

"I'm due for my bimonthly report to Sir Myles anyway," Ianto replied sharply, defiantly stroking the crook of Jack's elbow with his thumb. "And I could bring Master Salmalin back faster. I won't be gone for more than five days, sir."

"Five days needed for cleanup," the General stated. "We need you for scouting, Jones."

"Just five days, General," Ianto implored. "Four if I go fast."

"It takes just one day for a fort to fall," the General said darkly. "I need you here." He held up a hand to forestall Ianto's protests. "That's final, Captain. Harkness, you need to go, sir."

Ianto swore softly under his breath. Jack squeezed his shoulder.

"Thanks for trying," he murmured, and before Ianto could get in a word edgewise Jack tucked his index finger under Ianto's chin and tilted his face up for a swift kiss. The General said something scathing but Ianto didn't care; Jack was trembling, his kiss soft but desperate.

"Jack," he whispered in concern when Jack pulled away, but his lover turned and left in a swirl of his coat, heading toward the Gwen.

"Captain Jones," General Vanget blustered. "Your conduct-!"

"Save it," Ianto spat, fury blooming in his chest as he glared at his superior. "If you need me, I'll be drawing up new flight plans in my quarters." He turned on his heel and strode with purpose to the barracks. Ianto did not have the patience to deal with Vanget at the moment.

From his room he could hear the Gwen's engines roar, and he stood at the window and watched her shrink into the distance. He didn't move until the sounds of her engines were overpowered by the sound of the fort, and even then it was only to put his hands on the windowsill.

"Go you safe," Rikash's voice drifted softly from the roof of Ianto's quarters, which were the second floor of a two-story building, "and keep you safe, and come safe home to me."

"That's pretty," Ianto murmured, glancing up at the thin ceiling. The beams creaked as Rikash shifted his weight above.

"It's an old farewell," Rikash sighed. "From time forgotten. You're troubled."

"Jack's troubled," Ianto muttered, eyes turning back to the horizon.

"Ah. Well, there's little to be done about it from here."

Ianto scowled and moved away from the window, back to his flight plans. "You're right, I suppose."

"About time you recognized my good sense," the Stormwing scoffed.

"Not now, Rikash," Ianto muttered, not in the mood for games. Above, Rikash shifted his weight. The wind changed and carried the scent of rotting flesh into Ianto's room. Clearly, Rikash had been playing with the dead bodies on the field.

"He will be back, Ianto," Ianto's brother said softly, with unexpected compassion. "No fear. He will be back."

Ianto looked up at the ceiling and then out the window. "Yeah," he said without conviction, trying to ignore the fetid, awful smell. "He will."


	22. War: Haven

Disclaimer: Kel's camp, Haven, Belongs to Tamora Pierce. Lily, however, is mine. Jack and Ianto still belong to the BBC.

* * *

**War: Haven**

The Gwen Cooper Mark I screeched through the sky. Jack peered down, squinting past the landing gear that blocked his vision.

"Found it," he whispered gleefully, and flicked a green switch. The Gwen shuddered as Jack let his flag let loose in the wind, the black phoenix on a red field with a black octagon in the far corner. He flew in a slow circle around the camp, grinning to himself.

He'd been looking for Haven.

The refugee camp wasn't on any maps, since it was, after all, a refugee camp and not a fort. When General Vanget of Northwatch had sent out messages to the king saying that the fort was not equipped to house a spydyne, His Highness had sent Ianto to meet with Sir Keladry of Mindelan, Raoul's squire who was recently knighted, to build the camp. Thus Haven had become Ianto's base, secret and hidden amongst the war victims. It was close enough to the Scanran border to serve its purpose. Jack hadn't known where it was, and he hadn't been allowed to look, really.

It had been a month or so since he had seen Ianto last, and a little over a year since that awful day when Northwatch had been attacked. There had been a meeting in Fort Mastiff about Numair's progress on those killing devices, but he didn't yet have any leads, or if he did, the mage wasn't sharing them. Jack had seen Ianto in Mastiff, and again later for both of their bimonthly reports to Corus to the king, but other than that Jack rarely saw his lover, and it was taking its toll.

Still, knowing that Ianto was well, and seeing friendly faces at Mastiff had eased Jack a little, and he had settled into being a soldier. He missed Ianto and the comfort he offered like men in the desert missed water, but Jack was able to shut off his hearing, now, when the killing machines begged for their mothers when they died. They were not children, Jack told himself. They were machines, nothing more; they might even be programmed to make aggressors feel guilty.

Lord Raoul had sent him on patrols to search for those things, in hopes that he could find them with the aerodyne before they found any camps. Jack had a sneaking suspicion about Raoul, though—the man had sent him here on purpose. Jack wasn't forbidden to look for Haven, per se, but he wasn't exactly encouraged to do so, either. But if he should just _stumble_ upon it…

Raoul was a big old softie, really, Jack thought contentedly.

There was a scuffle down below, although Jack couldn't see it very well; the Gwen was not made for spying. But then, to his glee, a flag was hoisted onto the pole; a black and white phoenix on a green field, and a red dragon lounging in the far corner—Ianto's flag. He was around.

And then a question: a red, triangular flag flapped, followed by a blue, square one. Jack flipped up his green switch; his personal flag pulled back into the dyne and he let loose his blue _all safe _ flag. There wasn't any danger that Jack could see.

The speaking spell that Numair had embedded into the console of both the dynes crackled to life.

"Jack?" asked Ianto's incredulous voice. "What're you doing here?"

"Jones, Ianto Jones!" Jack cried happily over the roar of the Gwen's engines. "I was ordered to patrol the area, and look at what I found! You know, it's really hard to come and visit when you're base isn't on any maps."

"That would be rather the point," Ianto replied, amused. "Are you going to land, or fly by?" The delight in his voice warmed Jack.

"I shouldn't land," Jack said mischievously. He could practically hear Ianto rolling his eyes.

"Disrespecting orders, I see," he tutted. "I'll have Osbern's squad ready the runway." Ianto couldn't quite keep the excitement from his tone, and Jack grinned stupidly at the Gwen's console. The last month had been a very long one.

"See you in a bit!" Jack replied brightly. He circled Haven like a very noisy hawk.

Down below, he could just see the gates of Haven open, and a squad of men march out to prepare the runway. It didn't take much; they stood far away from the intended path, and someone who was Gifted lit up the spell embedded into the grass, giving Jack a bright arrow to follow. Jack reeled in his flag and turned on a wingtip, slowing his speed.

The Gwen growled down to the ground, and Jack applauded himself for his graceful three-point landing as he taxied down toward the camp.

Something thumped his door. Jack blinked and kicked it open as the Gwen trundled to a stop.

Sir Keladry of Mindelan sat proudly on her awful horse beside his aerodyne. She lowered the blunt end of her favorite weapon, a metal-butted staff with a great, curving pigsticker of a blade at the end, called a glaive. Had she knocked on his door with _that_?

"You better not've dented my door, Mindelan," Jack scolded cheerfully by way of greeting.

"Welcome to Haven, Captain," she replied amiably, although her eyes crinkled with amusement. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I was in the area," Jack shrugged, leaning back casually in his seat and grinning charmingly at Kel. "I won't be staying long; I just wanted to say hello."

Kel raised an eyebrow. "With all due respect, we're in the middle of a war, sir."

"Yep," Jack replied brightly. "Which is why I'm not going to deplete your resources, since I know they're limited. I'm on my way back to Fort Giantkiller, but they won't care if I'm an hour or so late." He shrugged. "I'm also taking requests. I can bring your report to the Fort, if you like, or I can bring you supplies."

Kel looked at him for a moment, clearly thinking. "We do have crops to plant," she scolded. "My men can't come running out to light up your runway all the time."

Which translated to, "I don't like you deviating in your duty just to say hi to your boyfriend, but I have a soft heart underneath all this armor, so I'm going to let you do it anyway," Jack knew.

"They won't have to," Jack shrugged. "Now that I know where it is. Don't worry, Mindelan; I'll be out of your hair soon enough. But in the meanwhile, surely there's a request or information or something I can relay."

She sighed. "Yes, I suppose. I was going to send out a messenger, but this might be easier. Alright then, Captain Harkness. I don't know if we'll have room for her in the hangar," she added, indicating the Gwen. "We can barely fit the Tosh."

"That's alright," Jack replied easily. "I won't be here for long. She doesn't have to actually go in a hangar."

Kel shrugged. "We'll let Captain Jones deal with it."

"Yep," Jack grinned mischievously, the lady knight laughed.

"Welcome to Haven, Jack," she repeated, this time with more warmth, and then looked over her shoulder. Jack followed her gaze to the open doors of her camp. "She can taxi in," Kel added.

"Yep," Jack said again, and shifted gears. He looked again at the open gates, and saw a familiar form sitting on a chestnut horse. His face lit. "You can tell Ianto to flag me in," Jack shouted over the noise as the Gwen's engines started up again. "Your men can go back to work."

Kel saluted and nudged her horse out of his way. The men standing nearby looked anxious; she shouted something and the squad marched back to the camp, and to Jack's delight he saw the chestnut mare bearing Ianto race forward. Jack touched the controls and the Gwen trundled toward the camp with a great deal of noise. Ianto waved him through the gates and his long suffering mare, Anwen, did not seem afraid of the noise from the dyne, which was a vast improvement.

As soon as Jack was through the door, he shut off the engines. The noise stopped soon enough for him to hear Ianto bellow, "_Close gates!_" to the men above. Groaning, the two great wooden doors closed. Jack kicked open his own door again and grinned down at the other man.

"I like it when you shout," he confided playfully. Ianto rolled his eyes. He slid from Anwen's back and clambered up on the Gwen's landing gear, standing on the large right wheel and bracing himself on the cockpit doorway so he could look Jack in the eye.

"You," he scolded in a very low voice, eyes bright and playful and delighted, "should not be here."

"And yet, here I am," Jack grinned at him and then leaned out of his seat to kiss him.

"Hmm," Ianto sighed into his mouth. Jack felt a thrill of something a lot like joy at that little happy noise. He reached up to cup Ianto's cheek affectionately.

"Missed you," Jack whispered when he pulled away. Ianto's eyes went soft, and he kissed Jack again, rather than replying. The words weren't really necessary, Jack thought with great contentment. He stroked Ianto's cheek.

Ianto pulled away. "You're not eating enough," he scolded tenderly, his fingers resting on Jack's throat. "You should take better care, Jack."

Jack leaned in. "I eat my fair share," he murmured and kissed him again, reassuringly. Ianto sighed and relaxed, fingers stroking, standing on tiptoe on the wheel of the Gwen and leaning into Jack's touch. Ianto, Jack thought contentedly. His wonderful, wonderful Ianto. This war, this time apart, was doing awful things to his heart.

"Captain Jones!" squeaked a small voice from the ground, and Ianto stiffened in the way that wasn't fun and pulled away. Jack made a quiet sound of disappointment.

"Lily," Ianto said, looking down at someone who was just outside of Jack's line of vision. He glanced once at Jack and then looked back down to add, sounding both amused and resigned, "did you clean out the Tosh's projectile launchers yet?"

"Yes sir!" the voice responded cheerfully. "Is this the Gwen Cooper, sir?" It sounded like a child. Jack stared at Ianto incredulously.

"Yes, yes it is," Ianto told the voice. "And I'm sure Captain Harkness would be very grateful if you lent him some power, if you're not too tired."

"Captain Jones, I've had all day to rest!" the little voice scolded eagerly. "I bet I could fill the whole engine! Can I meet Captain Harkness?"

"He's probably very tired," Ianto said, turning to look back at Jack with an anxious frown.

Jack's heart was pounding. "Kid?" he managed, unease rising sharply in his chest.

"Lily," Ianto explained softly, hesitant. "She's one of the orphans of the refugee camp—she wants to fly."

"Ianto, I can't—" Jack didn't really have the words for what he wanted to say. Frankly, he wanted to run screaming. Over the years, Jack had managed to heal enough that the sight of a child didn't make him freeze with terror, and he adored Daine's baby dragon, but the very thought of another child, another sacrifice for the universe to demand, especially in a war where the enemies sounded like babies crying for their mothers, was almost enough to petrify him. It was bad enough that those things sounded like children; real children might just be too much.

Ianto leaned forward and brushed his lips over Jack's cheek, a gesture that struck Jack as oddly sweet. "You don't have to," he murmured, answering the question that Jack was unable to voice. "She's my responsibility, not yours. I won't let her near you, okay? Just say hello, and I'll send her on her way."

Jack took a deep breath and looked hard into Ianto's eyes. Ianto watched him patiently, his own eyes calm and soft, waiting for Jack to make his decision.

"Captain Jo_-oones,_" the voice drifted up impatiently.

Ianto didn't break his gaze. "Lily," he warned quietly, and there was a sigh from the ground.

"'Wait my turn.' Yes, _alright_," the girl complained sourly. "But does Captain Harkness at least need his launchers cleaned? They look really gross."

Ianto still held Jack's eyes. He didn't answer Lily's question, still waiting patiently for Jack.

It wasn't really much of a decision, really, Jack thought with an inward sigh. It wasn't even a question of how much he trusted Ianto, because he trusted Ianto completely. In matters of the heart, Ianto was his absolute equal, but against the universe—well, Jack protected him. Jack had always protected him. Ianto, in this instance, was promising to protect _Jack. _It had been a long time since anyone had even _tried_ to protect Jack, that whole incident with the gods aside.

Jack decided that he liked the feeling, as silly as it was. He could do this, Jack thought, a little surprised. He could give this last bit, let Ianto take care of him, because he didn't have to worry about becoming too dependent and then losing his lover. Ianto wasn't leaving any time soon and, if not wounded mortally, Ianto wasn't dying anytime soon, either. Jack let out a breath, and accepted Ianto's promise.

"I would love my launchers cleaned," Jack said loudly, and was rewarded when Ianto's eyes lit up. He even managed to keep the statement free of any innuendo, Jack thought proudly to himself. Ianto mouthed "Thank you" with feeling, before hopping down from the Gwen's wheel.

Steeling himself, Jack clambered out of the cockpit, jumping gracefully to the right wheel and then to the ground.

Lily was—very small, he thought when he saw her.

She could not have been more than seven, but she looked malnourished and painfully thin, so really her age was anybody's guess. Her blonde hair was tied back messily with a piece of something that had probably not started life as a hair-tie. There was mud splotched on her cheek, and her dress was absolutely filthy. She looked like a war victim, Jack realized sadly. She _was_ a war victim. Had Ianto said she was an orphan?

Ianto pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. "You have mud on your face," he told her softly.

The girl snatched the handkerchief and, blushing, wiped her face and hands. "Sorry," she muttered, and then fixed Jack with bright, bright brown eyes.

"Lily, this is Captain Jack Harkness," Ianto said grandly, pale eyes amused. "Jack, it's my honor to introduce Lily Plowmen."

"Charmed," Jack said with every bit of charisma he could muster, bowing elaborately. The little girl giggled and curtsied clumsily.

"It's an honor, sir," she said shyly, but her eyes were delighted. "I could charge your engine, if you like. I'm Gifted." She held out a hand; pale brown fire gathered in her palm.

"I would be obliged if you did," Jack replied, but he glanced anxiously at Ianto. She was so small, and the Gwen demanded a lot of power. Would she hurt herself?

Ianto rested a hand on his arm comfortingly. Jack felt his heart twist at how Ianto knew him. "Not too much, mind, I don't want you collapsing again," Ianto warned the girl gently. He squeezed Jack's arm.

"No collapsing allowed," Jack told her brightly, flashing his teeth. "Stop when you get tired, alright? Even Ianto can't fully charge the Gwen on his own."

"Yes, sir," Lily nodded. "How long are you here for, beggin' your pardon?" she asked.

"Not long," Jack said with a small wink to Ianto, who rolled his eyes, but his thumb stroked the inside of Jack's arm. Jack decided then and there that landing here was the best idea he'd had in weeks, if only for that one caress. "Just a few hours, really. A few, ah, reports." He grinned and the girl giggled.

"I'd better get started then," she said, and then bolted to the left second wing of the Gwen to work on the projectiles.

"Be careful around those weapons, Lily," Ianto called. "The Gwen's more armed than the Tosh. Do you see the nozzles? Those are flamethrowers. Leave them."

"But sir, they're all—" came the muffled voice.

"You can leave them," Jack told her.

"Yessir," the girl replied sulkily.

"We'll be back in two hours, Lily," Ianto said, and then pulled gently on Jack's arm. "If that's not enough time, don't worry about it."

Lily must have said something in reply, but Ianto pulled Jack away toward the hangar that squatted to the side of the camp. Jack did not bother hiding the relief he felt the farther they got from the kid.

"We are pretending that you're briefing me," Ianto muttered, striding with determination. Jack thought wildly that he absolutely loved Ianto – he was letting Jack's anxiety go. No discussion. The kid was not even part of Jack's life; nothing for him to worry about. He felt the tension that had coiled in his shoulders release.

"And by briefing, do you mean removing your briefs? Because I plan to do that," Jack replied dryly. This, now. This was familiar territory.

"Then I'm not really lying, am I, Captain Harkness?" Ianto smirked. He opened the door, pulled Jack inside and before he could shut it Jack was on him.

"Not at all, Captain Jones," Jack growled, pushing Ianto back up against the door to close it. Ianto looked up at Jack, smirked, and then reached behind his own head to throw the deadbolt.

"Good thing. Because that would be dishonest," he whispered coyly against Jack's lips.

"God but I missed you," Jack gasped and finally, finally kissed him. Ianto's arms came up around him, and it was like coming home.

There were probably better places to do this than up against the wooden doorway of a hangar in a refugee camp, Jack thought afterwards, panting and content and likely with several splinters in the palms of both his hands.

"You're taking the splinters out of my back before you go," Ianto whispered against his throat, breathing deep and fast. He was smiling—Jack could hear it in his tone and feel it against his skin. Once again, Ianto had nearly read his mind.

"Mmm, okay," Jack muttered into his temple. "You have to take them out of my hands, though."

"Wooden doors—bad place for sex," Ianto said dryly, as though adding it to a mental checklist.

"Who would've thought?" Jack chuckled, drawing him closer.

"The 'wood' in the door made it sound like so much fun," Ianto said, deadpan, and Jack laughed brightly.

"Well, you never know unless you try," Jack grinned. He pulled Ianto forward a little so they could sit on the ground, half-naked in the dirt, in the shadow of the Tosh. The dyne crouched regally in the hangar, taking up most of the space and blocking most of the light. The sunlight spilled past her wings, making dust motes flicker and dance in the air.

"Mmm," Ianto murmured and, cuddling close, took a look at Jack's right hand. Jack rested his cheek on Ianto's hair and closed his eyes. He could feel Ianto's heartbeat against his skin, and Ianto's fingers trailing carefully on his palm.

Perfect, Jack thought sleepily, feeling utterly safe for the first time in ages. He would have to leave in an hour or so, but that was okay. Right here, right now, he had Ianto mostly naked and content in his arms and they were hidden away in the hangar; the world could wait for a few hours.


	23. War: Creatures of Nightmare

This? This was seriously hard to write. This has been on my hard drive since a few months after I finished Guardian.

Also: where have all my reviewers gone? :( If there's something funky with this story, please tell me so I can fix it! I really appreciate constructive criticism, as long as you're nice about it.

Anyway, here's the next bit. Enjoy!

* * *

War: Creatures of Nightmare

Bracing himself, Numair Salmalin picked up a quill and drew a circle in the center of the table. He drew the appropriate symbols, feeling his Gift spark down the quill and into the runes. When he snapped his fingers, the illusion came to life; a tiny Scanran killing machine rotated slowly within the circle. The assembled war party watched him silently.

This was a meeting that he could no longer put off, no matter how much he wished that he could.

"Twenty one of these things have been reported in the country between the City of the Gods ad Seabeth," he started reluctantly, looking around the room to each of the officials assembled for the meeting. Lord Wyldon leaned back into his chair, and Sir Raoul was watching him keenly. Captains Harkness and Jones, both sitting on his left side, shifted forward in their seats.

"Yeah," Jack said wryly, "I've fought ten of them, and killed eight."

"There was that one in Sigis Hold," Captain Jones murmured, pale eyes sharp for all that his voice was quiet. "You've found out how they're powered," he stated.

Numair sighed regretfully. Daine rested a supporting hand on his thigh. "Yes," he sighed. "I wish I was wrong, but yes."

The meeting was at Fort Steadfast, which was new since the war had begun but reasonably well established. Along with the air force Captains, several knights were there, three of whom were Generals, and King Jon was listening from Corus through a speaking spell. Alanna the Lioness was regrettably absent, having been called away last minute.

Daine, of course, was sitting to Numair's right. She'd been with him when he had started making his horrific conclusions, and she'd quietly, persistently, asked the right questions when all he wanted to do was disprove his awful, awful theory. Finally, more than half a year since he'd first come to the north, Numair could no longer doubt the truth, no matter how much he wished that he could.

The mage gestured at the little image on the table. When he snapped his fingers its head enlarged. "You all know by now that punching a hole in the skull releases the driving force," he said softly. Eyes shifted around the room.

"It calls for its mother, more often than not," Captain Harkness said grimly. His face had an odd pallor about it. Ianto shifted a little closer to him.

"Yes." Numair took a breath. He focused on the image on the table. "Six years ago, the City of the Gods expelled a mage student, Blayce Younger of Galla, on charges of necromancy, particularly the enslavement of spirits of the dead."

Numair looked up at the assembled group; they were all watching the little image, as well. Ianto was gritting his teeth, something alarmingly like hatred in his eyes.

"He must have sought asylum with Maggur. He kills civilians," Numair continued, voice halting as he tried to avoid the worst of it, although he'd have to explain in the next breath, "and then captures the souls before they can move on; he uses them to power these—things." He gestured to the image of the killing device.

"Civilians," Sir Myles said darkly. His eyes were cold and calculating. "Not just civilians, Master Salmalin."

"Children," Raoul growled, "They're killing children. The voices, the mist when you kill them—they sound like children."

Numair bit his lip. He'd spent so long trying to prove that it was something else, something different, but there was really only one conclusion. "Yes. We have reason to believe—yes. They are children."

"Because he thinks it's _fun_ to kill children and use their souls for—for _that_?" snarled Buriram Tourokom, the commander of the Queen's riders. She gestured to the image on the table and Numair, for the umpteenth time this awful month, felt sick.

There was a low murmur around the table following her outburst, knights and generals shifting uneasily in their seats. Someone growled a denial. Numair followed Daine's eyes, though: she was looking at Jack. Their friend's soft, hitched breath was like a warning bell to any who knew him. Ianto, face carefully blank but eyes absolutely blazing with fury, had laid a hand over Jack's, ignoring Lord Wyldon's huff about impropriety.

His knuckles had whitened. Jack's eyes were glassy, fixed on the table as though hypnotized. He didn't seem to notice how hard Ianto was gripping his hand. Around them, the generals and the knights had started to argue, the noise growing. Jack's quiet, distressed breathing was lost in the commotion.

Daine stood. "I think we should reconvene in an hour," she said to the room at large, and the squabbling knights fell quiet. "We're all emotional. If we don't think about this rationally, we won't be able to come up with a plan."

"An excellent idea," Numair replied with another worried glance to Jack, who had started to shake.

"Very well then," King Jon said gravely through the speaking spell. "Are you alright, Captain Harkness?"

Jack's eyes snapped up to the small, circular stone that housed the spell through which the king spoke. He smiled charmingly, shoulders relaxing, although his face was still dead white. "I'm just fine, Your Highness," he replied, voice cheerful. He stood up, shaking off Ianto's hand. "If we're going to have a quick break, will you excuse me? I think I need a—a privy."At the king's nod, Jack fairly bolted from the room.

"Sire," Ianto added with a little bow and then, without another explanation he stood, spun on his heel, and followed Jack. His coat flapped behind him and he broke into a run as the door shut.

Daine and Numair exchanged an anxious glance.

"You both may go as well," the King told them. Both mages turned to the spell. "Make sure our air force Captains are alright," Jon added, sounding a little more concerned. "We will reconvene in an hour."

"Yes, Highness," Numair muttered. He grasped Daine's hand and pulled.

"If you'll excuse us." He bowed to the king, as did Daine, and together they strode out the door and sprinted off after their friends.

"Something's happened." Daine panted grimly as they ran, stopping to ask a passing mouse if he had seen or smelled a man who could not die. The mouse helpfully pointed her in the right direction, and she pulled Numair along.

"The discovery is upsetting," Numair replied, equally out of breath, "But you're right, love—Jack only acts that dramatically if it's—" his voice faded. The last time Jack had acted in a similar manner, it had been about Ianto, eight years before. Jack had been quite broken when they had first met him, and even the gentlest touch to a sore spot would have the man on the defensive. His response today was rather reminiscent of that, which was worrying.

Numair had thought that his hurting friend was better, now that Ianto had become a permanent part of his life. While horror was expected at Numair's discovery, Jack was not the type to run from a bad situation. On the contrary; he was often the one proposing solutions. Numair had expected him to be outraged, to ask questions about Numair's methods and his experiments. He'd expected Jack to leave the meeting grim-faced but determined, not to run out panicking in the middle.

Daine took his hand and squeezed. Numair glanced at her, feeling guilty without a reason.

She led him to the stables, which should not have been as surprising as it was. The quiet crunching of their feet on the hay that lined the barn was drowned out by rasping, sobbing breaths and a familiar voice, crooning anxiously.

A horse whinnied quietly, and Numair started to lead the way. He knew where they were, now: Red was in one of these stalls.

"We'll get him," Ianto's voice was saying softly, as Numair and Daine approached. "Jack, listen to me—we're going to get him; this Blayce is going to pay for what he's done. Shh, shh, Jack—"

"It's _kids_, Ianto," Jack gasped, panic rising in his voice.

"I know," Ianto replied, his own voice hitching. "I know."

"Jack?" Daine called in concern. She pushed the stall door open.

Jack's dappled gelding was lying down, curled protectively around the two men, nickering and nuzzling his rider, who looked as though he had fallen to pieces. Jack had his face buried in Ianto's shoulder and was visibly trembling, breath harsh and uneven. When the door opened, Red and Ianto looked up, and Jack took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Fine," Jack whispered shakily into Ianto's shoulder when he heard Daine. "I'm fine."

"Yes. And I'm the emperor of Carthak," Numair replied pleasantly, opening the stall door before coming to sit cross legged next to Ianto, who made a small, startled sound of protest. He wrapped his arms tighter around Jack, as though protecting him. Daine sat on Ianto's other side and rested a hand on Jack's back. The horse, resting on the ground next to them, huffed and regarded Numair with one wary brown eye.

"What can we do to help?" Daine asked, rubbing in circles into Jack's back with her thumb.

"It isn't—" Jack began, "I don't—" but he could not seem to get a sentence out, breath shuddering and stuttering with aborted sobs. Numair let out a breath, shocked. Captain Jack Harkness was a strong man, always with a smile and a solution, even if the solution was flawed and the smile didn't reach his eyes. Still, seeing him in this state was surprising; Jack never let his guard down like this, even amongst friends.

"Shh," Ianto murmured, stroking him gently. "It isn't your fault." He looked at Daine. "I appreciate your concern," he said softly, "Really. But Jack—"

"I murdered my own grandson," Jack hissed viciously into Ianto's shoulder. Numair gaped, staring at his shaking back. He heard Daine give a tiny gasp and stole a glance; her eyes were wide and horrified. That had—come from nowhere. "I watched him scream and bleed and didn't stop." Jack's voice hitched. Numair recoiled instinctively.

"Oh, Jack," Ianto whispered wretchedly, "Jack, this isn't—"

"It's exactly the same," Jack snarled, voice choking. "Kids, Ianto, it's always kids!"

"That was _nothing_ like this_,_" Ianto replied fiercely. "He didn't have a choice," he growled loyally, glaring from Daine to Numair and curling his arms tighter around Jack as though protecting him from a physical assault. Numair could do nothing but stare, mind whirling. He even jumped a little when Daine took his hand. "It was one child or millions. You are nothing like this Blayce," he added to Jack and hugged him tighter. "Nothing!"

"You—you need to explain this better," Numair managed to say slowly, shaken. Jack had killed his own grandson? Jack _had _a grandson? Sometimes it was hard to remember that the man was old; he was immortal, for all that he looked like he was in his late thirties. That he was a grandfather should not come as a surprise; that he would, for whatever reason, harm a child did. It did not match up at all with the image Numair had of the air force Captain, who grinned and played with Kitten so gently. Jack took a harsh, sobbing breath.

"There's nothing to explain," he growled.

"I refuse to believe," Daine said slowly, pushing down on his back with her palm for emphasis and squeezing Numair's hand, "that you would murder a child in cold blood, Jack Harkness." Numair nodded his support, although there was no way Jack or Ianto could see it. The mage swallowed. Daine was right; Jack was a soldier, and he had it in him to make awful, hard decisions—but that didn't make him a murderer.

"Believe it," Jack whispered into Ianto's shoulder.

"This is not cold blood," Ianto murmured, holding Jack closer. "This is remorse. This makes you human. It wasn't his fault," he added again to Daine and Numair, his pale eyes begging them to listen. "I don't care how much he blames himself; it wasn't his fault!"

"I believe you," Daine said softly, but Jack shook his head. Numair glanced down at her, marveling at her compassion. She reached up and gripped Jack's shoulder. "I know—I know it hurts. But—" she paused, bit her lip, and then plunged on. "When I was thirteen I lost control of my wild magic and hunted men with a pack of wolves. I was terrified to tell anyone, but when I did—" she rubbed the back of his neck, bent over so his forehead could rest somewhere near Ianto's collarbone. "It helps, Jack," Daine murmured, "To talk. Truly it does."

Numair quirked his lips in a small, sad smile. "You're not the only one who's done some unsavory things, Jack Harkness," he said. Daine's eyes softened in understanding. Numair offered her a weak smile. Numair had once been a mage in Carthak, after all, and accused of treason. He, too, had committed a few awful acts in the name of the Emperor.

Jack took a sharp breath and turned to look at Numair. His cheek rested on Ianto's shoulder still, and his blue eyes were lined with red. "Unsavory is—not even the proper word," he whispered hoarsely. Ianto kissed his temple.

"It might help, Jack," he murmured gently, although his eyes snapped to Numair. The warning was clear: one harsh word from either of them, and Ianto would personally see to their demise.

Numair felt a flash of fondness for his friend. He knew Ianto trusted him, and would fight to the end should he so need it, but the man's heart was Jack's, and Jack's alone. First and foremost, he would defend his lover, never mind that he was in the company of good friends. Ianto was so incredibly loyal; Tortall was lucky to have him.

Numair was, after all, not a very judgmental man.

Jack sighed and looked down at the shoulder of Ianto's coat. There was a long, long silence.

"It started fifty years before," Jack whispered at last, not looking at them. Daine reached out and took Jack's free hand; Ianto's arms tightened around Jack's shoulders. Numair met Daine's eyes, and together they steeled themselves; from what little they both knew of Jack's world, they knew that this story was not going to be a pleasant one.

"I—I worked for Torchwood," Jack managed, and then squeezed Ianto a little with his other arm, which was snaked around Ianto's waist. "Not Torchwood as—as Ianto knew it. That came—after. They got a message," his voice cracked but he shouldered on. "On wavelength four five six, from a group of aliens that never identified themselves. They offered the antidote for a virus—a, a disease, a plague—that would savage Earth's population. In return, they wanted twelve children. Torchwood ordered me to deliver them. Twelve lives for millions—we thought it was a good deal, so I did. They went into the light, all but one—he ran away—and the transaction was finished. We got the antidote, the world was saved and we went home. No bloodshed, no one died; easy job." He closed his eyes and sighed. Ianto said nothing but he leaned his cheek on the top of Jack's bent head. Daine squeezed Jack's hand.

"Why did they want the children?" she asked quietly.

"We didn't know, and we didn't really care," Jack growled, voice filled with old scorn.

Numair felt a small thrill of horror. "And… was the plague real?" he asked.

"Very," Jack replied darkly. "It was a strain of influenza. There had been an outbreak a generation before—I was there. I died twice, and everyone I knew did as well. This was fifty years later, but some people still remembered. I certainly did." His eyes went distant, remembering, and he suddenly looked impossibly old.

"And there was no other cure?" Daine asked.

"It's a virus," Ianto said when Jack shook his head. "Earth didn't have the technology to cure viruses." He rubbed his cheek against Jack's hair; Jack had clearly been forgiven.

"The needs of the many," Numair added quietly. Daine sent him a sharp look. He smiled at her sadly. "It's how the hard decisions get made," he said. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. To let millions of people die for the sake of twelve lives—twelve lives that might be lost to a plague anyway—" Numair's voice trailed. "I wouldn't want to be in the position to make that decision."

"That's not an excuse," Jack hissed angrily, although the anger wasn't directed to Numair. "Any—anyway, fifty years later, they came back. They always do." His voice was bitter. "They made the children talk. All of them. Every child in the world spoke, all at the same instance, all the same words. 'We are coming.'"

Numair stared, unbelieving. "All of them?" Daine whispered, reading his mind, as always. He could hardly imagine, and from the look on her face, neither could she.

"All of them," Ianto repeated darkly. Jack sighed against Ianto's shoulder, eyes distant.

"They wanted more children this time," Jack continued, voice now cold and clinical. "Ten percent of the population, and if we didn't deliver, they said they'd kill us all." He paused and glanced down. "We tried to stop them," he added.

"The government decided to kill Jack and destroy Torchwood," Ianto growled when Jack's voice faded. "They planted a bomb in his stomach." His voice was bitter, filled with old rage.

"Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith," Numair breathed over Daine's, "Horse Lords."

"That wasn't important," Jack murmured, leaning back a little to glance from Daine to Numair. His blue eyes were unreadable, distant and removed. Ianto opened his mouth to contradict, but Jack cut him off. "That was the government fucking up; that wasn't important. We found—Gwen found—the kid; the one that got away from the aliens in nineteen-sixty-nine. Clem, fifty years later. He spoke with the kids."

"What?" Daine asked, confused.

"It _was_ important," Ianto muttered rebelliously. "We couldn't do anything without you, Jack, and they were after us. You say you always come back, but that explosion—I thought—" he swallowed and went on. "It destroyed the Hub. Our base," he explained, "All our equipment, everything, down to the pterodon. We had nothing, not even out leader, and we were on the run."

Numair remembered something in a flash—eight years ago, Daine and Jack talking about a pterodactyl. Daine had asked if the creature had died, and Jack had whispered that there had been an explosion. Oh, Shakith. A bomb in his _stomach? _Numair felt ill.

"But why?" Daine breathed. "You were the alien experts. Why would they want to kill you?"

"Because Jack was involved with the twelve children taken in nineteen-sixty-nine," Ianto explained, voice still angry at a world long since gone. "They wanted to cover it up, especially after the Four-five-six were asking for more children."

"So you don't trust governments," Numair murmured, understanding dawning. "That's why you both were so afraid of King Jon. Oh, Jack."

Ianto growled something low and furious about concrete, but Jack interrupted him.

"That's not—that's beside the point," he said. "We tried to make it right. Ianto and I—we stormed the Thames House, where the alien was kept in this glass box. Its ship was behind the moon, and it was treating with the government for the children. They were going to hand them over, like they did in nineteen-sixty-nine. Ianto and I went in and told it we would fight." He sighed. "So it locked down the building and released a virus. It killed everyone inside." He paused and then swallowed, apparently unable to distance himself from this particular memory. Eyes bleak, Jack laid his head on Ianto's shoulder. "He died in my arms."

Numair, unable to help himself, flicked his eyes to Daine. She was biting her lip, and looking back at him. The picture Jack drew was horrible; a government ready to give up millions of children, a virus to kill everything. Numair could see it: Ianto sick, dying, and Jack immortal and helpless. From the look in Daine's eyes, he knew she could see it, too. Her fingers curled protectively in the fabric of Jack's coat.

It was a wonder Jack didn't go mad. Had Daine died like that, Numair would have simply lost his mind.

Ianto murmured something comforting to Jack and kissed the top of his head.

"But when I died," Ianto said softly, and Jack visibly pressed himself closer to Ianto's side, "the alien did something else. It screamed, and miles away Clem died as well. It killed Clem, at long last. So Jack had that transmission. That sound was deadly to the alien, just as it was for Clem." He stopped and looked down at Jack, biting his lip.

There was a brief silence.

"We were running out of time," Jack whispered at last, voice hitching before he could collect himself. "They were starting to ship off the kids in buses—those are like wagons, but without a horse and bigger—entire schools were being emptied. It was like, like if the King took all the pages, and everyone at university and told them to assemble in the palace—only to trade them off somewhere as slaves. Turns out, the kids were drugs. The Four-five-six were getting high off children. It was a drug deal."

Daine clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, and Numair swore faintly.

Jack swallowed hard. "So I had… I had this transmission," he continued and now his eyes dropped to Ianto's air force coat. He traced the red phoenix embroidered there with a nervous finger. "But no way to transmit it, except—" his breath came out harshly, but he did not stop. "Except through the kids, the way the alien passed its transmissions. Steven—" he gasped, as though he had not expected to be able to say the name.

"To pass a transmission like that you need a focal point," Ianto murmured, stroking the back of Jack's neck as Jack took a moment to collect himself, "a place where the signal is most concentrated—deadly to the individual, but harmless to every other child on the planet. They resonated with the sound. All those children screaming; it killed the alien. The children stopped screaming when it died. They were fine."

"Steven wasn't," Jack said thickly. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. It didn't work; he swiped a thumb under his eyes, clearly fighting tears.

"It wasn't a choice," Ianto told him fiercely. His eyes flicked anxiously to Daine and Numair, and he leaned into Jack protectively. "Don't you see? Millions of lives, lost for one? No. It wasn't a choice. It wasn't fair, but he did _right_." Numair met his gaze, unsure what to think. When Ianto put it that way, he saw his point – had Jack saved the boy, then millions of others would be lost. But the act of killing one's own family…

He thought of Kitten and felt sick. He thought of Blayce the childkiller and suppressed a shiver. No, no, Blayce was evil, utterly evil – Jack, his friend Jack, who loved so strongly and felt so deeply was nothing, nothing like Blayce. Numair refused to believe it.

"I couldn't have done that," Daine said softly. "Put Kitten in that place? Never. The—" she looked down. "All those children. Lost. I never would have done it. Jack—" she reached out and squeezed his shoulder."Oh, _Jack._ You saved your whole world."

Numair looked at her incredulously.

"At what cost?" Jack whispered, eyes closing as though exhausted. His shoulders drooped and he leaned heavily on Ianto.

"An unacceptable one," Ianto murmured, tightening his arms around him. "But there wasn't another way." Jack exhaled slowly, almost a sigh, and rested his forehead on Ianto's collarbone.

"He's right," Numair said quietly, a little surprised at his own conclusion. He shared a glance with Daine, still thinking about what she had said. He would never have sacrificed Kitten for anything, not even ten percent of all the children in Tortall. Ten percent! That was millions. The number was too big to see it clearly; Jack had saved so many lives, at the cost of something so precious. Numair himself would be incapable of that sort of sacrifice. "You are nothing like Blayce."

Jack shivered visibly, but said nothing.

"You're a hero, Jack," Numair continued softly. "I couldn't have done that. If they killed Daine and put Kitten in that place—" he suppressed a shudder. "You are a stronger man than I am," he finished.

Jack didn't reply, but his breath caught and he didn't open his eyes."You're all delusional," he muttered after a moment.

It broke the tension. Ianto chuckled and Numair grinned. Daine gave a bark of laughter.

"It's this place," said Ianto after a moment. "This whole damn place is like a delusion. Unicorns and dragons and this monster Blayce."

"For every good thing—" Jack whispered.

"—something awful. But we're going to stop him," Ianto interrupted firmly. "You hear? I like Tortall. And if you think I'm going to let these things from both our nightmares come and destroy this place…" his voice trailed on a growl. "When we find Blayce," he added, low and steady and _angry_, "we will kill him, and put an end to this travesty."


	24. War: Interlude

**Interlude (Sort of)**

Smoke billowed up from the burning grasses below. The Gwen's engine screamed as Jack arrowed his dyne through the black column and came out on the other side. He dove, rolled, yawed, engaged his flamethrowers; the brown, dry grass caught fire, and the men below screamed.

Jack spiraled up into the sky, trying to see, planning his attack. The parallel lines of fire on the ground neatly divided the Scanran army below in two. Their commander had a projectile thrust in his throat. Jack had them utterly destroyed.

The speaking spell in the console of the Gwen crackled to life.

"—_Jack?_" asked Ianto's voice. Jack blinked and looked at the grille, where Numair had embedded the speaking spell. He steered the Gwen away from the smoke.

The spell only worked within a range of a few miles; Haven was too far from Fort Giantkiller, Raoul's fort and Jack's base, for them to communicate normally. Ianto must be very close for the spell to work, Jack thought ruefully. Of course it would work _now_ of all times, when Jack was out on patrols, about to massacre a small army of Scanran soldiers.

Jack stared guiltily into the speaker grille. "Please don't come here," he muttered regretfully, the ache of missing Ianto like a wound in his gut. He hadn't seen Ianto in weeks, and this massacre was not a sight Jack wanted him to see. "I have a troop of Scanrans captured, the Third Company's off at a bigger battle so they won't come to help." Below, the men shouted and clanged their weapons, caught in a ring of fire. Jack soared around them, smelling smoke and wishing that the war was over. At least there weren't any of those awful killing things nearby. So soon after learning what they really were, Jack wasn't sure he could deal with them.

"How many?" Ianto asked gently. Jack glanced down at the enemy soldiers he had captured.

"Somewhere between fifty and a hundred," Jack said coldly. He had no love for Scanrans after he knew the truth of their killing devices.

"Keep them alive," Ianto urged. "I can see the smoke. I'll get reinforcements."

"Ianto—" Jack protested, startled.

"I love you," Ianto said hurriedly, out of the blue. Jack blinked.

"What?" he asked, thrown. Below, the flames crackled and the horses screamed.

"I, er, love you," Ianto repeated. "I miss you. Please don't kill them."

Ianto. Ianto and his mercy. Jack wanted to kiss him and protect him from all the evils of the world. "You're killing me here," he muttered. "Ianto I don't think I have a choice—"

"Just hold on." From somewhere, he heard the Tosh's engines scream to life. Jack squinted. Six, maybe seven miles away, he saw a line of condensation in the sky; the trail of an aerodyne moving fast at a high altitude on a humid day. "We're close to Trebond—I can get—" the spell crackled and died as Ianto went out of range.

"Oh, good," Jack scowled. He circled his captives.

Well, Ianto had asked him not to kill them. He couldn't kill them _now. _But he couldn't stay here forever; this was a distraction— he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was a bigger battle somewhere else.

Oh, hell, Jack thought, circling. Below, the men were starting to tire. Poor bastards, Jack thought dimly. They were only following orders, after all – Jack knew better than to blame soldiers for the awful things their superiors did. Their general or his advisors or whoever ordered Blayce to make those fucking things was a sick individual, though. He wished Ianto would hurry.

A half hour later, the speaking spell crackled to life. "Troops almost there," Ianto's voice said cheerfully.

"I love you too," Jack told the speaker grille miserably.

"Because I got the troops, or in general?" Ianto asked wryly.

"Both," Jack replied. "Thank you, Ianto."

"You didn't kill them, did you?" Ianto asked, sounding resigned.

"No. I've got them right here. I miss you." Jack touched the soft brown cotton that covered the grille where the spell was embedded. Battle was exhausting, and it had been so long since he had last seen Ianto. His voice was like balm to a wound Jack didn't even know he had.

"We'll be there soon," Ianto assured him. "Just a little longer, okay?"

"Okay," Jack sighed, relaxing almost by instinct. "I'm going to have to go find the Third Company."

"I have to head back to Haven," Ianto agreed ruefully. "I have a report to give."

"I hate this war," Jack told him with feeling. Ianto laughed softly, and Jack pictured him reaching to touch the speaker grille on the Tosh, mirroring Jack's earlier motion. God, those hands. It felt like forever since he'd felt those hands.

"Me too," Ianto replied. "Can you see us, yet?"

Jack peered over the side of the Gwen. "Yes," he said with a great deal of relief. The distinctive double column and the Trebond flags far below were starting to emerge from the woods. "Where are you?"

"Look up," Ianto urged tenderly.

Jack did.

The Toshiko Sato was circling the Gwen slowly, high in the air and utterly silent. She looked like a hawk on a heat thermal, except that, every so often, the Stormwing feathers on her wings and tail would catch the light and wink cheerfully. As Jack looked, Ianto let loose his flag; a black and white phoenix on a green field, with a bright red dragon curled in the corner, as though sleeping. Jack grinned.

"How long have you been up there?" he demanded delightedly. Jack had never thought he'd be so happy to see a flag in his life.

"Five minutes, maybe less," Ianto replied, and Jack heard the smile in his voice. "I really have to go, though."

"Yeah, me too," Jack sighed. "You think the Trebond men can handle it from here?" He looked down through the smoke, where orange flames trapped the frightened, exhausted Scanran soldiers. Some of them had probably suffocated from it by now, Jack thought clinically. Still, the survivors could at least be of use to Sir Myles or George.

"Thank you, Jack," Ianto murmured, "For not killing them."

Jack shrugged, even though Ianto couldn't see him. "Myles needs prisoners."

"No," Ianto said. "That's not what I meant. When you get up here, Jack, you turn into a soldier, or a Time Agent, or whatever you were before you became Torchwood. It's frightening. To see you so ruthless."

"Ianto, I was always ruthless," Jack sighed.

"I know. But you've a heart as well. Thank you for listening to me."

"Always," Jack murmured as Ianto engaged his engines and soared to Haven. "Fair weather," he wished in farewell, and then, with one last look at the Tebond reinforcements, Jack, too, left the prisoners.


	25. War: Into the Fire part 1

Hi all!

Right, so story is still in the works, but it's been a while since I last updated, so you're going to get the first chapter of it. I intend for it to be three parts (And I changed the name, because as it turned out the story was more about Ianto than Jack) but if it grows, well, then it grows. For those of you who know the Tortall universe, this is about the fall of Haven; I'm essentially re-writing the end of Lady Knight. Do be **warned**: there is a lot of off screen violence in Lady Knight, and this violence is decidedly on-screen in this story. This is a cross-over with Torchwood, after all, and things get ugly for Jack and Ianto.

* * *

**War: Into the Fire part 1  
**

_It was like something out of a nightmare. _

_Ianto Jones, dead at twenty five and no longer counting, was trembling as he pulled the throttle of the Tosh Sato Mark I. The aerodyne screamed shrilly, six bolts lodged in her belly, wings and tail. She banked, low to the ground and fast, and Ianto thought dimly that he was out of ammunition. _

_The battle around Haven, his base and Lady Kel's refugee camp, raged and raged. Keladry of Mindelan herself was at Mastiff, giving reports along with three of her commanders, and without her the camp was going to pieces. There was fire and screaming, and as the smoke reached his nostrils Ianto's vision swam with memories. _

_The Tosh shuddered again, and the second killing device lunged, great bladed hand reaching. Ianto spiraled up higher , useless and afraid and re-living nightmares of Cybermen. Another bolt hit the Tosh, and the dyne rolled with the momentum. _

_Scowling, hating his own weakness and hating the monsters below, Ianto pulled his dyne into a dive, nose first, and the killing machine shot a bolt at him. He rolled out of the way, staring into the creature's awful eyes. Hissing furiously, he pulled a knife out of his sleeve, and at fifty feet, at a forty-five degree angle from the thing he threw it. Borne by Stromwing magic and gravity it flew true, slamming between the staring eyes. Ianto bared his teeth, hatred welling within him. _

_Never mind that they were not Cybermen – they looked like Cybermen, and he'd be damned if those fucking things killed the people at Haven they way the Cybermen had once destroyed Torchwood Tower. In his mind's eye he saw the fire and heard the clanking metal, the screams of Haven merging with the screams in his memories. He brought the Tosh into a roll, meaning to bring her about and face the next device. _

_He was too low. There were too many, and he was too inexperienced. As he rolled yet another bolt slammed into the belly of the Tosh and the dyne skidded in the air, wing first. Ianto tried to correct it, but at ten feet he was too close to the ground, and those things were nimble. One of them jumped, clawed hand gouging into the wings and the dyne fell from the sky, engines screaming. _

Ianto Jones woke with a terrible pain in his shoulder and smoke in his nose. He gasped, coughed, tried to roll over, and couldn't.

Panting from the pain, he took stock of what was wrong.

Somewhere, someone was screaming. No, many someones were screaming. There was smoke from somewhere, but here it was dark. Light pricked through holes above his head. His arm hurt and his left leg was falling asleep. Ianto tried to move again, and still couldn't.

He stared up at the cracked wood above his head.

The Tosh. He was stuck in the wreckage of the Tosh. His dyne had gone down, and the only reason he hadn't died was because Numair had practically saturated the thing with safety spells. Ianto squirmed, and a splinter dug unpleasantly into his back.

"Rikash," he whispered. His voice was faint, fainter than he expected, like a wheeze. In the back of his mind, there was a green slash; Rikash heard him call. Green turned to white, then jagged yellow: fear. Ianto swallowed.

Rikash couldn't get to him. The battle must be still going on. _Shit. _

Oh, shit. So many times, shit. One of those things must have taken down the Tosh, and now Ianto couldn't move.

The yellow stripe in his mind intensified and flashed, frantic. "Rikash," Ianto wheezed again, not that the Stormwing could hear him.

Then the dyne moved.

"Mama?" asked a child's voice and Ianto's heart froze. "Mama, are you in here?"

He swallowed. "No," he replied hoarsely. "No one's here. Run along now, l-love," he said, stumbling over the endearment. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try. His mind flickered to his horse, Anwen, the only living thing he ever called 'love.' She was somewhere in this massacre. Then he thought of Jack, whom he really did love, and his heart ached. He'd promised Jack five hundred years, if not forever. He couldn't die now.

"Mama," the child's voice called cheerfully. A blade slashed through the wood of Ianto's beloved Tosh, stopping inches from his throat. "Mama!"

Ianto swallowed, staring at the gleaming metal and trying not to panic. His mind jumped to conversion units in Torchwood, cannibals in the countryside, and too many guns in too short a time held to his head. He didn't like things near his throat, not after so much negative reinforcement.

He inhaled. He exhaled. Calm.

The blade jerked and went away. "Mama?"

The dyne shuddered, and Ianto bit down hard on his tongue to stop from wailing; the pressure on his shoulder increased, crushingly so. And then, suddenly, the heavy wood pinning him was lifted away, and there was sun in his eyes.

"Mama!" the thing cried, cold, cold eyes fixed on him. There were chunks of wood stuck to its hand.

Ianto was free.

It lashed with its foot but Ianto rolled quickly out of the way, landing on his feet. Pins and needles shot from his ankle to his knee and he staggered but kept on running, that thing chasing after him.

Haven was in flames, there were Scanrans everywhere and Ianto was completely unarmed. "Rikash!" he managed. A huge, clawed hand thumped to the ground next to him and Ianto yelled, dashing to the side.

Something gave an eagle's cry from above and the monster was distracted. Rikash spiraled down from the sky, claws extended. "Run!" he bellowed as the thing snapped at him. "Run, you idiot!"

Ianto had no gun. His dyne was down. His Gift was weak and he was not trained for battle. There was a small knife in his pocket and a larger one in his boot. Both were Stromwing-fletched, but at this angle even with the magic he was unlikely to hit his mark.

He ran.

He ran and he didn't stop, tears streaming down his face. He wondered about Merric, the knight commander here; he spared a horrified thought for Lily, his little protégé, lost in the melee. There were children, adults; friends he had made amongst the knights and refugees, all fighting, all losing. He called desperately to Rikash but the Stormwing only responded with a distracted flare of blue; he was unhurt.

Hooves beat beside him and Ianto turned, his knife from his pocket at the ready. If it was a Scanran, he was dead; Ianto was good with a gun, but a small knife versus a sword was a distinct disadvantage.

Anwen, his chestnut mare, snorted at him and Ianto could have wept. She'd found him.

She had no bridle and no saddle, but she stopped and let him clamber on before racing into the woods. He wanted to tell her to go back, to find Lily and the other refugees, but he was under no delusions; without a saddle, Ianto was not a good enough rider to navigate through a battle. As it was he could feel his balance slipping with each stride, and Anwen's spine dug uncomfortably into him.

He looked back, risking his precarious balance and gave a small moan of dismay. From here it was absolutely clear.

The Scanrans had won. Haven had fallen. Without a base, without his dyne and without supplies, Ianto made a decision.

"Anwen," he murmured to his mare. She turned her head and met him with one brown eye. "Anwen, stay close to the edge of the woods. They're going to try to kidnap the children—we're going to follow them."

.

* * *

.

Jack Harkness was making a daisy chain, because he was bored and because it would look nice hung on the Gwen's console.

Fort Giantkiller, his base, had fallen while Jack was away, distracted by a clever plan by the Scanrans. He'd returned to find the place in ruins, and no less than six killing machines waiting for him there. Horrified, terrified, he'd flown at them and killed them, their cries for their mothers cutting him like physical blades. Lord Raoul, who had miraculously survived, had ordered a trembling Jack to Fort Mastiff, where he would report to Lord Wyldon until Giantkiller was rebuilt.

Lord Wyldon had cleared out a stable for Jack's dyne, so there he sat, on the huge left wheel of the Gwen Cooper Mark I, with Red, his dappled gelding, lying in the dust by his feet. It was nearing one in the morning, but Jack knew there was absolutely no way he was sleeping tonight, because he was worried and because of the nightmares. The light from the candles and the glow of the spelled quartz in the Gwen's cockpit cast the hangar in eerie shadows.

Red had been colicky lately, and he'd given Jack a scare the other day, so he wasn't letting the horse out of his sight. The vets here had assured him that Red was fine, but Jack wasn't ready to rest until Daine got here and saw to him. Red tended to sleep lying down when he was healthy – Daine had said once that it was a personal preference – but since that was a symptom for colic Jack was still anxious. He really did want Daine to take a look at his gelding.

Of course, the war might make that a bit difficult, but still.

Red wuffled softly in the dust. Clearly, he wasn't able to sleep, either.

"Daisies," Jack told him firmly, "are bad for horses, so you can't have any."

Red rolled a bit and looked up at Jack. He grinned, hopped off the wheel of the dyne to crouch and scratch his horse's chin.

"I think," Jack stated grandly, "that you are the best horse that's ever lived, don't you, Red?"

Red snorted although his eyes, bright and intelligent from association with the wildmage, were clearly amused. Jack sat cross-legged beside him and stroked his neck. "My noble steed," he chuckled fondly. Red nickered. "Still not feeling your best, huh?" Jack asked softly. The gelding sighed.

"That's alright, buddy," Jack murmured, scratching under the soft chin. "That's alright. You take your time."

Red wuffled, pressing his chin into Jack's palm. He was getting old, Jack thought sadly. When he'd first met Red, the gelding had been barely four, dark haired and frisky. Now Red was twelve, which was still reasonably young for a horse – Red's life expectancy was increased dramatically because of Daine, she said he could live to be thirty – but the years were starting to show. The gray gelding's hair had lightened, and he was starting to look white. Jack thought it was fetching, and liked the thought of riding a white horse, but it still had him a little anxious. "You're not allowed to die just yet," he murmured, and Red snorted as though the thought was absurd.

"Yeah, I know, just let me worry, okay?" Jack chided, and Red leaned up and puffed warm air in his face. Jack laughed and shoved his nose gently. "Oi," he complained and combed his fingers affectionately through Red's gray and white mane.

Suddenly, someone pounded on the door. Red started and someone yelled, "Captain Harkness!"

Jack frowned and stood. Red huffed and rolled to his feet as well. "No reason for you to get up, old man," Jack murmured to his horse, slapping his shoulder before walking over to the stable door. Red followed him anyway.

"Yes?" Jack asked, opening the door to see Owen of Jesslaw, Lord Wyldon's page, standing in the night. "It's a bit late, isn't it?"

"Haven's been attacked, sir," said the boy urgently. "We just got the message. My lord wants to speak with you."

The bottom dropped out of Jack's heart. "What?" he demanded.

"Haven's fallen," Jesslaw told him again. "My lord's probably going to send you with Lady Kel, but you have to come with me."

An icy claw of panic slid down Jack's spine. Ianto. Ianto's base was Haven—

"Right," Jack said, all business. He glanced back at Red once in farewell before shutting the door, not even bothering to change out of his nightclothes, which he only wore because sleeping naked in hay was uncomfortable. "Lead the way."

The page nodded and sprinted up to Lord Wyldon's headquarters, Jack keeping pace beside him. When they reached Lord Wyldon's office, Jack threw the door open before the page could knock.

"Tell me everything," he demanded.

Lord Wyldon was sitting before the hearth in a nightshirt and breeches. Lady Keladry of Mindelan, at Mastiff to give a report, had a young, sobbing boy in her arms and Nealan of Queenscove had a glowing hand on the boy's back. There were eight other men that Jack barely recognized in the room.

"Haven's fallen," one of the men – his name started with a _c_, Corman or Cognac or something weird – "Tobe just told the tale." He nodded to the boy.

"Th-there was three of them," hiccuped the kid, and Kel hushed him. She looked up at Jack.

"He said the Tosh went down," she whispered, correctly reading the look in Jack's eye. "I'm sorry, Jack." Her eyes were glazed and shocked, her voice mechanical.

Jack let out a horrified breath. He stared at her, open mouthed, a roaring sound in his ears. Ianto, he thought faintly somewhere in the corner of his mind. _Ianto_. The great, yawning darkness of eternity threatened to engulf him. Ianto had promised him. He'd promised him five hundred years, if not forever; he couldn't just—just—

—just die. Not again. _Please, please not again_…

"Get your mage, Captain Harkness," said a voice. Jack blinked.

Lord Wyldon had stood. Kel was passing off the boy, now asleep, to a healer, and Wyldon, whom Jack didn't quite like but respected anyway, was standing before him with—was that _compassion_ in his eyes?

He was a grizzled man, balding, with what little gray hair he had left cropped short. The scar that stood from his right eye to his hairline was an angry red, and one of his arms had once been savaged by a hurrock. It was functional, but thin and oddly lumpy beneath his tunic. Wyldon was a conservative, and had made his opinions on Jack and Ianto perfectly clear. Nevertheless, he had always been respectful, and the man knew how to strategize.

Now those dark eyes were almost gentle. "Captain," he ordered. "You are scouting ahead of Lady Keladry. Find your mage to charge your aerodyne."

Jack snapped out of it. "Yes, sir," he managed and spun on his heel. "When do we leave?" he asked over his shoulder.

"An hour," Kel said flatly from the hearth. "We leave in an hour."

.

* * *

.

Ianto sat, exhausted, on Anwen's back, urging her closer to the line of trees. She threw up her head, refusing, and took a step back.

"Shh," Ianto whispered, even though she had not made a sound.

The Scanrans had indeed captured children, but they had also taken adults. Kel had trained them well, though; they had fought tooth and nail, and now sat bound to poles in the burned out camp. Ianto spied Lily in the group and swallowed.

"Just hang on," he murmured, almost to himself, eyes fixed on the children in the center of the camp. "Hang on."

It took a day for the Scanrans to mobilize. Ianto gritted his teeth when they inspected his fallen aerodyne, but these were soldiers, not scientists. They did take parts, but the parts they took were the wings, not the main power source – not the engine. That was good. They could take the wings all they liked; they'd never be able to build an aerodyne of their own without a proper engine.

The remaining refugees fought their captors like wild things. The children, the adults, even the animals refused to be tamed, so the march was slow. Quietly following them, Ianto marked trees with his Gift, leaving evidence of his path. An X, an arrow, an IJ to let Jack know he was alive – he followed the troop with grim determination.

Sometimes he wondered about Rikash, but it was clear the Stormwing wanted to remain at Haven. That was sort of odd, because he tended to be anxious about Ianto's welfare when he was unarmed; Ianto's life was Rikash's life, after all. Still, each time he thought an inquiry to the Stormwing he got a reply—the color purple, whatever that meant. Sometimes he wished they had a stronger connection so they could communicate more efficiently.

Then he remembered some of the thoughts in his head, and was glad that they didn't.

He followed them silently up through the woods, stealing supplies when he could, drinking river water purified by his own Gift.

The prisoners were not treated well, and Ianto's blood quietly boiled every time he saw that whip. Still, there was only one of him and many soldiers. Ianto was nothing if not patient. He did little things; ropes snapped in the night, knives and arrows went missing. He didn't steal food unless he absolutely needed it, since the refugees were eating from the same stock as the soldiers. But he did everything within his power to stop them, or at least make the journey inconvenient.

And then, as though things weren't shitty enough, they went to hell.

Ianto was behind the troop of soldiers, keeping quiet in the woods. He only saw glimpses of them, shadowed as he was in the trees; a dot of color, the sounds of bracken and brush under many feet. Then, someone screamed. There was a crack of a whip; someone said something harsh.

The Scanrans did not speak Common, the language spoken by the Tortallans. When he'd been dead, Ianto had understood Common as though it were English; later, Rikash had explained that the dead spoke no language, and understood them all. Alive again, Ianto found that he could understand and speak every language that Rikash could understand or speak, and this included Scanran. This made a twisted kind of sense, as he was bonded with the Stormwing.

Thus, Ianto heard and understood the harsh voice of the Scanran in charge of the war party: "Leave her to die! She slows us down."

There was a shout that sounded like Common, but the words were garbled and whips cracked. The soldiers moved on, and voices wailed. Ianto gritted his teeth.

Dilemma. Follow the Scanrans, or stay with whoever they were leaving to die?

Jack would follow them, Ianto thought grimly, pulling on Anwen's mane to halt her. Jack thought of the needs of the many.

Fuck the many. Ianto thought he knew who this was, anyway.

He'd befriended the people of Haven during his stay there, Ianto mused dully as furious red began to tinge his vision. There had been a lot of people, but after they got over being afraid, many had gotten curious about his aerodyne, especially after Ianto had made it a point to bring back treats every time he went to Corus. He'd manhandled his way into the kitchen to brew coffee when he was able to get his hands on enough to share, and it had quickly made him a celebrity among the refugees.

Of course, delicacies like coffee and chocolate and tea and honey were a rarity in a refugee camp, but Ianto had tried, and they'd appreciated it. There had been some native plants that made wonderful teas, and Ianto was good at beverages, whether coffee or not. By the end, he'd been welcome in the kitchens.

One of the cook's assistants had been heavily pregnant and very excited. Yollane was a young thing, bedraggled and alarmingly thin. She'd liked her tea with honey, and Ianto had made it special for her, when he could. Now he gritted his teeth as he listened to the sounds of the troop marching away in the woods, the woman's husband – his name was Quaren – shouted and screamed and begged audibly over the sounds of the whips and the chains.

The sounds faded. Ianto was alone, and the forest was quiet enough to hear the harsh, distressed breathing.

He dismounted. Anwen snorted in alarm.

"Shh," he told her. "Stay close."

His horse crowded skittishly up to his back, and Ianto crept close to the sounds.

Yollane was lying on the ground, blood pooling around her as she gasped and whimpered pitifully. She was miscarrying, at close to eight months. Ianto swallowed hard, wanting to rage and charge after those fucking _barbarians, _who left this bright, sweet young woman to die of fucking _childbirth_, alone in a forest. He wanted to kill them all.

Instead he walked swiftly to her, crouching by her head. "Yollane," he whispered, resting a hand on her damp forehead. She sobbed and opened her eyes.

"Cap—Cap-t-tain?" she managed.

"Yeah," he murmured, stroking back her sweat-damp hair. "I've been following them. Marking the way for the rescue party."

She closed her eyes and shuddered with another contraction. She moaned, unable to respond.

There was little hope for premature babies in Tortall, even with the aid of healers. Yollane was dying, and so was her baby, and there was not a fucking thing Ianto could do about it. "It's going to be alright," he told her anyway, tears welling in his eyes. "It's going to be okay. You're not alone." He held her hand, and she squeezed it weakly.

It took her six hours to die, and Ianto wept bitter tears when she stopped breathing at last. He'd given her as many pain-killing spells as he knew, but he was not even remotely close to being a healer. Stormwing magic was not suited for it, and he cursed and he swore when it had little effect. He tried to help, he really did, but childbirth was not something he knew even slightly. He positioned her as best as he knew how, but it didn't matter. There was something wrong internally; the baby wouldn't come. He didn't know what to _do. _

Over those six hours, he talked to her, trying to keep her distracted and lucid for as long as he could. He told her about Jack, how he would come and find them, that there was hope for rescue yet and not to give up. She'd looked at him with her bloodshot green eyes and asked him to tell her a story; words tumbled from his lips. He told her of how he met Jack, how he loved him—tales of pterodactyls and other worlds and aliens and spaceships. She smiled when she could and squeezed his hand when she couldn't, and toward the end she did neither, whimpering and crying and bleeding and Ianto wept with her.

When she died at last, he couldn't move for the tears, and it was only Anwen, insistently pressing her soft nose to his shoulder, that got him to rise.

"I can't do this," he whispered to his mare. She bumped his collarbone with her nose. Ianto looked back at Yollane.

"I haven't the tools to bury her," he said thickly. "I h-haven't—"

Anwen nickered and nuzzled him and Ianto collected himself. He pulled away from his horse and stood next to the woman, bloody and dirty and quite dead. "I'm so sorry," he told her. He reached and softly closed her eyes, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief to lie respectfully over her face. "So, so sorry."

He swallowed and clambered back onto Anwen. "I'm going to kill them," he swore quietly. "Every last one of them." His horse snorted and picked up a determined trot.

Farther up ahead, the Scanrans had hung Quaren, Yollane's husband, from a tree. Ianto cut him down, swearing quietly to himself. He didn't have time to go back and put him with Yollane; instead he laid him on the forest floor with a handkerchief over his eyes, whispering apologies as he had done for Yollane.

At this rate, Ianto thought with grim humor, he was going to run out of handkerchiefs.

He tracked the Scanrans farther, riding Anwen hard up through the underbrush. The problem, however, was that Ianto had no scouts and no army; he was only one man. One man, unfortunately, was very easily overtaken.

.

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More to come! You know, eventually. Please leave a review :)


	26. War: Into the Fire part 2

Sorry about the long wait! This time of year is just crazy. Anyway, here's the second part at last.

DISCLAIMER: The parts of this from Kel's POV have text lifted directly or paraphrased from Lady Knight. The beginning of that section is marked with ^^^. I do not own even the writing in that case! As always, all Tortallans and Scanrans belong to Tamora Pirece; Jack, Ianto and Gwen and Tosh, the namesakes of the aerodynes, belong to the BBC. I own Anwen, though!

... yup, and the name changed. As it turns out, this is more about Ianto than Jack.

* * *

**War: Into the Fire part 2  
**

Haven was in ruins.

Lord Wyldon had ordered Jack to fly with Kel, but Jack champed at the bit; he flew ahead, far ahead into the darkness, scouting for Scanrans and flying his blue flag when he found none. The smoke that rose from the ruins clogged his nose, but he could see nothing.

Kel and her people were still marching. He'd left them in his dust; the sun had not yet risen. The night was cloudy and black as pitch, and it would be dangerous for him to land now. Jack did not care.

He engaged his flamethrowers, lighting the destroyed camp below, but only for a moment. The orange of the fire cast the ruins in harsh relief but Jack still did not care; he looked frantically for the fallen dyne—there must be a wreck, there must be—

"Easy, lover boy," growled a harsh voice over the engines. Startled, Jack yanked on the controls, turning the Gwen on a dime and flashing his fire again.

"Hey! Watch it!" Rikash shouted, diving sharply out of the way. Orange light bounced wildly off his steel feathers. Jack let out a gasping breath.

"Rikash," he managed. Then, louder, "Rikash! I had news of the Tosh—Ianto—?" He couldn't even articulate it, but the sight of the Stormwing was such a relief that Jack's lungs stuttered, unable to draw in air. He was alive. Ianto was alive.

"The Tosh went down," Rikash confirmed, gliding close to the cockpit. He smelled absolutely foul – clearly, he'd been playing with the bodies here. Jack tried not to feel sick. "One of those child-things got it, but Ianto's alive. He's vanished off into the woods, the idiot, but he's alive." Jack swiveled the flamethrower away from Rikash and engaged; the light from the fire lit the Stormwing's face. He wasn't lying.

Well, why would he lie? If Ianto were dead, Rikash would be, too. They were bonded, after all.

"Why are you here?" Jack demanded.

"So _I _could tell _you_," Rikash sneered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We could hardly have you collapsing next to a burned out aerodyne when my brother's relying on you to find the refugees they took prisoner, can we?"

"Oh, you bastard," Jack grinned, both irritated at his tone and fiercely affectionate. "You clever, clever bastard."

"Sometimes I feel like the only one with a brain," the Stormwing complained. "I hope you have reinforcements coming."

If Jack could have hugged the stinking, disgusting creature he absolutely would have. "Of course I have reinforcements coming. Kel's on her way back with Company Eight and Six of the King's own, led by Wyldon."

"The Balding Bastard himself?" Rikash asked, sounding surprised. Jack laughed.

"Is that what Ianto calls him?" he asked.

Rikash huffed. "One too many malcontent grumbles."

"Of course," Jack grinned.

"How far behind are they?"

Jack looked over his shoulder as though he could see them in the darkness. "A few hours, at least," he said regretfully.

"And you're sitting here commiserating with me? Idiot. Go back and cover them; Ianto won't thank you if his reinforcements get killed in the night." Rikash scoffed. It was easy to forget sometimes that the Stormwing was a creature of battlefields, and understood, to the marrow of his silver bones, the workings of war.

Jack made a face. "Right," he said. "Come with me; you can give them a full report."

"I don't think so, no," the Stromwing drawled, starting to drift away from the cockpit. "If I come, they'll stop to listen. I want them to see the place for themselves. See you in a few hours, lover boy," he sneered, and caught an updraft, slowly soaring away.

Jack scowled and didn't dignify that with a response. He rolled to dip the Gwen's wing and then brought the dyne about to speed off into the night. He had soldiers to collect.

They did not reach the ruins until morning, and by that time Jack was pulling at his hair in frustration. Wyldon ordered his people to fan out – Jack could see it from the dawn sky. He was not Wyldon's people, however, and he didn't take orders from Kel. Jack made a sweep of the ruins, hunting grimly for the enemy, but he knew he would not find them. He flew his all safe flag on the returning loop, before reeling it in and arching away, looking for the fallen aerodyne.

There. In the gray dawn light, it was easy to see, despite the mist of the early morning. Jack swallowed.

The Tosh Sato Mark I looked like an overturned ship. She was belly-up, wings spread eagle and torn to bits. Crossbow bolts from those killing devices bristled from her hull and tail, and planks of wood were ripped and scattered everywhere around her, as though she had been gutted. Gritting his teeth, Jack landed. The low morning mist swirled around the Gwen's wheels, and he jumped out as soon as his dyne stopped.

Kel had brought her people through the ruins of the camp to look for survivors, but Jack had more important things to do. He clambered over to the shattered Tosh and then let out a deep, relieved breath.

The Scanrans had taken parts, of course, but they did not know to take the engine. One of the killing devices seemed to have gotten to it first, if the twisted metal was anything to go by.

Good. Very good. The Scanrans would never be able to design a flying machine without an engine. Jack moved to collect what parts he could and then went still. Something red caught his eye.

There was blood on the hull of the dyne. He took a breath and shook himself. Ianto was _alive_.

The whole wreckage needed to be torched, of course, even the engine and the console, parts they would normally save. Jack pulled out the throttle for Ianto, and then wrenched open the back hatch to take out the flags. The throttle and the flags were sentimental, really, but he thought Ianto would appreciate them. He stuffed them into the Gwen's hold.

Jack clambered back into the cockpit and slowly taxied the Gwen over to the wreckage. Taking a breath, he engaged the flamethrowers.

That close to the nozzles, even the metal would melt. Jack held down the switch as the wood went up in flames, glowing blazing green from the copper they had used for wiring. He held the switch for a good five minutes before releasing it, letting the dyne burn on its own. At last, Jack backed the Gwen and taxied regretfully away from the burning Tosh.

From nowhere, Rikash swooped down and landed on the dyne's right wing. "Yes?" Jack asked impatiently over the sounds of the dyne's engine. The Gwen continued to trundle along the muddy, trampled ground.

"She's awfully stingy," the Stormwing complained. "I didn't touch her people, and if not for me, then Ironclaw Nation would've eaten the lot, Tortallan or Scanran." He licked a feather on his filthy right wing. Jack stared at him. It took him a moment to realize what the hell the Stormwing was talking about before he made the connection.

Scanrans. Rikash had been eating the bodies of the dead Scanrans, although he'd left the dead of Haven behind. Jack supposed Rikash thought he was being generous.

"Rikash, I don't think Kel likes it when people disrespect the dead, no matter their loyalties," Jack sighed. He'd seen a lot of wars. In the end he'd learned that soldiers were mostly just people, even the enemy. Rikash was family and he couldn't help what he was, but that didn't mean Jack had to like it.

Rikash snorted, either oblivious to Jack's grim expression or not caring. "Noble, that one," he said disdainfully. "Are you going to find my brother, or what?"

"As though there was any doubt," Jack scoffed. "Just had to make sure our Scanran friends can't make take out tech, and clear that I'm going with the Balding Bastard," he added with a smirk. The Gwen slowed to a stop at Haven's gates, or what was left of Haven's gates.

The great, solid wooden doors were hanging off their hinges, destroyed by some kind of battering ram. The walls, the gates—every building was streaked with soot, as though the Scanrans had tried to burn the place. Smoke still curled slowly out of doors and windows. The grounds were littered with the dead; Wyldon's men were starting to drag them out and lay them in lines.

It looked, to Jack's experienced eyes, like a battlefield. It looked like both World Wars on earth, like the Interstellar Skirmishes—which were not, in any way, shape, or form skirmishes—of the fifty first century, like Boeshane after an attack, like more wars and battles and slaughters than Jack could keep track of. It looked like everything looked after it was seized. It looked destroyed.

Kel was walking up on the ramparts; Jack could see her from the ground. She kept on touching things, as though in a fog, as though she didn't believe that it was real. She passed a killing device, ensnared in a net on the northern wall. The young knight touched the sharpened logs on the wall, like a child touching pickets on a fence.

Poor girl, Jack thought darkly. He'd lost squadrons before, faced horrific death counts on the losing sides of wars. Still, Jack had never lost a refugee camp before. He kicked open his door and slid down to land on the large right wheel of the Gwen so he could hop to the ground.

The bodies the men were dragging out were in pieces. Those killing devices, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. Those killing devices had cut them up like jigsaw puzzles. Still, Jack had a strong stomach, and worse things had happened. Jack himself had been cut up like this, before. There was more important information to deliver.

"Lord Wyldon!" Jack shouted as he strode along the lines and lines of dead men and women. "Lord Wyldon!"

"Captain." The knight was standing in the center of a cluster of captains and sergeants, ordering them here or there. Somewhere behind, Jack heard Rikash's feathers jingle as he alighted on the muddy ground.

"I've received news that the Scanrans have taken prisoners," Jack said as he came to a stop before the knight, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the Stromwing. "And also that Captain Jones is alive and following them. He may have marked the way."

"Prisoners?" one of the sergeants asked.

"Refugees," confirmed Rikash, waddling forward to stand next to Jack. The wind blew and Jack wrinkled his nose at the stench. If Ianto were around, he'd never stand for it; he'd threaten to bathe Rikash if he needed to do it himself. "I watched them gather them up. Most of the camp." The Stormwing nodded to the burnt out shell of Haven. "Your refugees fought like animals."

"You saw them—and didn't help?" a soldier demanded, eyes flashing.

"I am a Stormwing," Rikash sneered, "Not a soldier. What do you want me to do, spit at them? Two hundred men? I don't think so." He unfurled a wing and pointed. "They went that way. Ianto will have marked their path."

Lord Wyldon looked at the Stormwing for a long, long time. He turned to look at the woods, eyes glassy as though doing some internal calculation. "They will have made it to the border by now," he said slowly.

The bottom dropped out of Jack's stomach. The border. The _curse_.

He started to swear, helplessly and violently. The men stared at him, but Jack kept on going, wanting to shout and yell in frustration. He'd go after them, of course, if he had to. He would. Even cursed, Jack would go after them—but he didn't know what would happen to him, once he crossed the border.

The thought was utterly, utterly terrifying.

"Captain Harkness!" barked Wyldon. Jack snapped his mouth shut and glared.

"What?" he spat.

"If you're quite finished?" the knight demanded.

"The border—" Jack started instead of apologizing.

"It doesn't matter," Lord Wyldon interrupted. "You're not going after them anyway."

Jack blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"We do not have enough resources to go after the refugees," Lord Wyldon said. "We are stretched thin as it is; Maggur's got that cursed pattern, remember? Two or three attacks at once. I want us at Mastiff before he strikes, if he hasn't already, and that means cleaning up this mess as fast as possible."

"I _beg_ your _pardon?_" Jack demanded again, outraged. "We don't have enough resources? Ianto's the best resource we've got! He knows how to build aerodynes – do you really want to hand over someone that valuable to the enemy?"

Lord Wyldon gritted his teeth. "No. I am going to send a small squad to follow the trail the Stormwing says he has left. They will retrieve him, and return to Tortall—"

"If you think Ianto's going to leave those refugees, you're an idiot," Jack interrupted with a sneer.

"_We do not have the resources, Captain Harkness!_" The knight told him firmly. "I cannot afford to send an entire company to retrieve one man unless he is the king, and Captain Jones is decidedly not the king. What would you have me do? Leave Mastiff, leave Steadfast unprotected? What about new Giantkiller, still unfinished and vulnerable? What about Northwatch, and every town from here to the Emerald Ocean? We have a border to protect, Captain. The forces you want simply do not exist."

"I exist," Jack said desperately.

"You," Wyldon told him, and damn him for having been briefed about Jack's circumstance, "cannot cross the border."

.

* * *

.

The light stung Ianto's eyes when his captors lifted the bag from his head. He felt oddly calm, as though he hadn't been traumatized by the last time he'd had a bag over his head.

"Are you Ianto Jones?" growled a voice in rough Common. A hand gripped his hair and forced his head up. Ianto met the brown eyes of his blonde, bearded captor. He was a tall, muscular man, crouching beside Ianto, coiled like a snake to spring. There was an axe holstered in his belt, and Ianto knew him from hours and hours spent spying, and meeting after meeting with George Cooper.

Stenmun Kinslayer, Blayce's bulldog. Hatred boiled up somewhere beneath Ianto's heart. This man was the Yvonne Hartmann of Tortall – the man who facilitated the creation of those child things, the way Yvonne had opened the crack that let the Cybermen into earth. Stenmun brought children to Blacye, and Ianto had been after him. There was a reason the Tosh had those four weapons. It was almost funny that he'd captured Ianto, instead of the other way around.

"Who?" Ianto asked mildly. The man holding his hair wrenched hard, jerking Ianto's head to the side so when his captor struck him, it was a clean blow. Pain bloomed in his jaw.

"Are you Ianto Jones?" the question repeated.

Right, like this was somehow persuasive. "My name's Connac," Ianto managed, strangled from the pain and the odd angle of his neck. "I have no idea who Ianto Jones is."

"Tie him up, take him," said his captor to someone else in Scanran. "He's our man."

Shit, Ianto thought, still in that strange calm. The bag went back over his head, and he was in darkness again.

He wondered where Anwen was.

.

* * *

. ^^^

The graves were finished by dark. While the convict soldiers made supper outside Haven's ruined gate, cooking flatbread and some ducks and chickens, Kel and the other soldiers buried their dead, murmuring prayers as they filled the graves first with bodies, then with dirt.

After supper everyone sat around the fire and told stories of the fallen. Their best whittlers cut names into the planks that would serve as headstones.

Kel prowled, unable to sit. Captain Harkness paced just on the edges of the firelight, muttering and hissing and growling to himself. He was disobeying orders just by being here, she thought gloomily, watching him. Earlier in the day, there had been reports of metal monsters on Giantkiller road, and Captain Jack had rushed off to kill them along with Company Eight. Meanwhile, Kel had found some survivors at last; Merric and his squad had been distracted by a small column of Scanrans while the camp had been attacked. Merric was badly wounded, pale from blood loss but healing now, aided by her healer and long time best friend, Neal.

Captain Harkness had returned to Haven from Giantkiller road later in the day, eyes wild, the belly of his aerodyne scorched from battle. The four killing devices had been a trap, he'd reported, voice cold and flat. Company Eight was in bad shape, and there had been no humans on the road, only those things. He'd killed them.

Wyldon had given Kel orders in the shadow of the Captain's report. She was to bury her dead and bring her troops to Mastiff, and if Mastiff had been attacked, she was to go to Steadfast.

Harkness had been ordered to fly to Steadfast to give the news. He had done so, but he'd returned to Haven within the hour, after Wyldon had left for Mastiff with Merric and Neal and the remains of Companies Eight and Six. Now he paced, talking sometimes in quiet tones with the Stormwing who perched on the wing of the Gwen.

Rikash Moonsword, that was his name. He was the one and only Stormwing at Haven; Kel had seen him fighting other Stormwings to keep them away. He was unpleasant, and Kel would never, ever trust a Stormwing, but she supposed that he was better than the alternative. He was only one Stormwing, after all. That was one too many, but at least there was not a flock of them here and Ianto had been fond of him, for some unimaginable reason. Rikash used to perch on the roof of Ianto's quarters like an absurd weathervane.

Ianto had followed the refugees, Kel thought somewhere in the back of her mind. Ianto had marked the way.

Was this the moment the Chamber had spoken of, when her path to Blayce the Gallan was made clear? During her Ordeal of Knighthood, the Chamber had given her a vision of Blayce the Childkiller and his horrific machines, and told her to fix it. She hoped this was the moment, because she was about to destroy all she had worked for to recapture her people. If she could.

Kel regarded Captain Harkness. He loved Captain Jones with everything he had, that much was painfully obvious. He was disobeying orders simply by being here. It was clear that he planned to go after the other Captain. Did he know what he was risking?

Did Kel even want to involve him? She certainly didn't want him to risk his status for her sake. What she planned was treason, after all. Lord Wyldon had ordered her not to go after her refugees.

But Captain Harkness was going to go after Captain Jones. Captain Jones, who had marked the way.

Kel strode up to the shadows cast by the aerodyne, deepened and darkened in the night. The light from the fires cast Rikash's wings in a strange light, so the Stormwing glinted orange and black every time he moved. Captain Jack was standing by the right wing, in the darkest shadow, looking up at Rikash, perched on the dyne. When Kel approached, Jack turned his head to see her. In the darkness, his features were indistinct, his eyes barely visible.

Kel stopped just outside the shadow, the fire at her back. "I have a preposition for you," she told Jack softly.

.

* * *

.

Really, Jack should have not been surprised.

The small squad Lord Wyldon sent to retrieve Ianto was Sergeant Dom's, and they greeted him cheerfully when he landed the Gwen in the ruins of old Giantkiller.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jack demanded as soon as the Gwen's engines stopped growling. Above, Rikash circled, the sun glinting off his steel wings.

"We're here for the same reason you are," said Sergeant Domitan of Masbolle, sitting at the head of his squad in the ruins, "We want to help Kel. What do you _think_ we're doing here?"

"You're committing treason, you know," Jack told him, unsure if he trusted him. Dom could be here to arrest him and Kel, for all Jack knew.

"Oh, don't worry! We're under orders to retrieve Captain Jones. _You're_ the one committing treason," Dom replied cheerfully.

"Going to arrest me, then?" Jack growled, ready to slam the Gwen's door shut. Where was Kel? She'd said they were going to meet up here—

"Nah," Sergeant Dom grinned cheekily. "I told you. We're staying to help Kel. The plan's to get Captain Jones out of Scanra, and rescue the refugees along the way. They're in the same spot, after all."

Jack stared at him.

Kel had friends. Kel had _a lot _of friends, and powerful friends at that. He'd forgotten.

Rikash fluttered to perch on the burnt-out shell of a training barrack and started to laugh.

As it turned out, all of Dom's squad, some of Kel's friends from when she was a page, the boy she'd hired as a manservant and even Lord Wyldon's squire were there, all refusing to leave her. They'd brought more animals and a horse for Kel. Her manservant road her roan monster of a gelding, whereas her friends had brought a little brown mare from Mastiff that she called Hoshi.

Jack started to find the humor in it all, really. Kel ranted at her friends, talking about treason and how they were throwing away their lives, and they all stubbornly stayed by her side.

"Captain—" she started at one point, looking at him. Jack shrugged, sitting on the wing of the Gwen.

"It's their choice, Kel," he said easily.

"Besides, we can't lose with an aerodyne!" Owen of Jesslaw, Lord Wyldon's squire and apparently a friend of Kel's, said cheerfully. "It's going to be a jolly fight."

Jack stared at him. He thought of Owen Harper, who shared this boy's name, and could not keep himself from laughing.

They set out on the trail of the refugees. Jack flew high, and the growls of his engines accompanied their march. "So much for secrecy," muttered one of the men, and then, above them, Jack banked and dived, flying swiftly away. Below, he saw a patrol from New Giantkiller; when they heard his engine they followed, riding hard to catch up.

"Oh, I don't think so," Jack murmured. He led them away from Kel and her people, as quickly as he could.

"Rikash," Jack called, looking up. The Stormwing, flying close by, drifted over to him.

"Yes?" he asked.

"There's a Tortallan patrol here," he gestured below, "Tell Kel to take a sharp turn Northeast; I'm going to lead them to the south," Jack shouted over the engines.

"If that's the plan," The Stormwing said offhandedly drifted away.

"Right," Jack muttered, feeling useless. He looked down at the galloping patrol of Tortallan soldiers. "One rogue aerodyne, coming up." He pulled the throttle.

Firing on his own people was idiotic. Instead he dove to little above the treeline, and he saw the patrol pick up a canter. They must be looking for him, Jack thought with grim humor.

He led them on a merry chase until their horses tired. It wasn't as though they could catch him, after all. Did they really think he was just going to land and let them take him prisoner? That was a laugh.

They followed him a few miles away before they fell behind, and Jack looped back to Kel's people. Rikash fluttered up to him.

"Taken care of?" he asked wryly.

"Nothing to worry about," Jack sighed.

"Good," said the Stormwing, and flew down to report the news.

.

* * *

.

The party moved slowly. During the night, Captain Harkness landed on the road when he could and slept with the men, or if he couldn't, he would disappear to find a field, where he camped alone. It was obvious that he delighted in landing, however; Ianto's markings on the trees were very clear, and Kel could almost smile when she saw Jack touch the burns in the bark, because sometimes Ianto left messages.

_Still alive, _they'd say. _This way –IJ_

Jack would smile sadly at them, and sometimes trace the 'I' of Ianto's initials with a finger when he thought no one was looking. During the day, he took to the air, following Kel and her men as they marched on.

_Over here, _Ianto would write.

_To the north._

_Still alive. _

And then as they moved deeper and closer to the border, one was just curses.

"Think he kissed his mother with that mouth?" Dom asked wryly while some of the men chuckled uneasily.

"Bastards!" Neal swore suddenly, and Kel turned to look.

There was a woman crumpled on the roadside. Her skirts were stained with blood, and there was a white handkerchief laid respectively over her eyes. Kel dismounted and strode over to crouch beside her. She removed the handkerchief, knowing, somehow, that she would recognize the woman's face. She did – it was the young, pregnant wife of one of the Hanaford loggers. Yollane was her name, and she had worked in the kitchen, sometimes.

Neal dismounted and crouched to examine the body. "Dead over a day," he said, green eyes dull. He, too, had known her, after all. Neal, aside from being Kel's friend, had been the healer at Haven. "She lost the baby. I'd say she hemorrhaged—bled out. It happens, sometimes, if there's no healer." He gritted his teeth.

Kel swallowed and gently replaced the handkerchief. "Ianto must have found her," she murmured. "She wasn't alone."

A hundred yards down the road, the woman's husband was lying below the tree. He had a noose around his neck, but it had been cut down. Another handkerchief had been laid respectfully over his eyes.

"We don't have time to bury them," Kel whispered.

"What was your wishful of doing?" asked Uinse, one of the surviving convict soldiers who had followed Neal and the others to help Kel.

"Place him with her, please," Kel replied. "Even if we can't bury them, at least they can be together."

They moved on. Farther down the road, hoof prints in the mud became visible, and there were grooves marked in the trees, as though an inexperienced mage had started throwing fire wildly. There was a Scanran, dead, with a knife projecting between his eyes, and there was dried blood on the dry, uneven ground. Kel gave a signal and Dom's squad fanned out, searching the area. Above, Captain Harkness was still flying his _all safe _flag, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

"What's this?" Dom asked, frowning down at the clear signs of struggle.

"It doesn't look good," Neal muttered.

"Lady," said Tobe, the young boy who worked as Kel's manservant. He was sitting on Peachblossem, Kel's bad tempered roan gelding, eyes fixed on the woods. Kel was convinced that the boy had some kind of horse magic, like Daine the wildmage; there was no other way Peachblossem would tolerate him.

"Tobe?" she asked.

"Lady, there's a horse in the woods," he repeated. "She's scared."

As though confirming his words, there was a crack of a branch and a rustle, followed by a high pitched squeal.

"That _sounded_ like a horse." Dom glanced at Tobe.

Above, the aerodyne growled. Silver glinted out of the corner of Kel's eye. She looked up.

Rikash Moonsword was spiraling down with a concerned look on his face. The light winked off his wings and the bronze pendent around his neck. He landed, clawed feet scraping on the stones in the road. Kel resisted the urge to say something sharp. For all that she didn't like Stormwings, Rikash was an ally. "That's Anwen," he said.

"Who?" Neal asked.

"Ianto's horse," the Stormwing sneered. He looked into the woods. "Anwen!" he shouted.

"You idiot!" hissed one of the men. "Shut up! Do you want to get caught?"

"Oh, shut your mouth, I'm a Stormwing. I have every right to be here. ANWEN!" The last was high pitched, more like an eagle's scream than a word.

The brush moved.

"Bows," Dom said. Rikash scowled.

"I said it was only a horse," he muttered. Dom motioned, and his men armed themselves. The brush rustled again.

"Don't hurt her," Kel heard Tobe whisper. Still, it did not harm to be careful, and the last thing they needed was a killer unicorn.

A familiar chestnut mare stepped daintily onto the road. There were slashes along her rump, and her mane and hair were tangled wildly with bracken, but her steps were steady. She looked at them with bright, intelligent eyes. It was indeed Ianto's mare Anwen, but seeing her alone among twisted, broken bracken on a road that showed signs of a fight was not reassuring.

"But where's Ianto?" asked Merric quietly.

The horse snorted and stomped her foot.

"Captive?" Kel whispered. Anwen nodded, eerily intelligent, of course, because of Daine the wildmage.

"Jack won't be pleased," Rikash murmured, looking up to the sky, where the aerodyne was turning slow circles around the road. "Jack won't be pleased at all."

.

* * *

.

Jack wasn't pleased.

Of course Ianto had been captured. Of bloody course, what else did he expect? Ianto was only one man. One man who was, for all Jack knew, being shipped off to Castle Rathhausak to King Maggur, who would torture him.

And, of course, to top it all off, Jack could not get to him.

It became apparent that there was more to this curse than just changing as Kel's troop approached the Vassa River, the border between Tortall and Scanra. A curious feeling settled over Jack, an unease that sat in the pit of his belly and the base of his skull. His arms started to shake and sometimes he felt sick, like he was going to throw up. He felt his heart laboring, not out of fear, but as though he had some kind of blood disease.

Jack didn't mention it, of course. He wasn't going to be stopped by something so stupid as a cold; the gods here would have to try harder than that. The days and hours started to blur together and, sometimes, Jack forgot what he was doing, only that he had to keep on doing it. His head hurt.

"You look like death," Rikash told him frankly the day Kel's people had reached the shoreline of the river.

Jack, pale and feeling feverish, stared regretfully down at the river and did not reply. His head pounded, like a swollen wound, and his vision was starting to go blurry, a dangerous thing for a pilot.

"Land," sighed Rikash. "Tell them. I don't think you can go on, Jack."

That Rikash had used his name was telling of his concern. Wanting to protest but unsure why, Jack brought the Gwen out of cruising altitude and spiraled down to meet Kel's people as they stood at the riverbank. That he acquiesced was telling of his condition. It was hard to think straight.

He kicked his door open when the Gwen trundled to a stop, and vertigo seized him. Jack closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing the nausea away. His scalp prickled. What was he supposed to be doing, again?

"Captain Harkness? Are you alright?" Kel had ridden up to the open door. He looked at her. She was blurry… and why were there two of her? The double image wavered and combined to become one. Ooh. That didn't feel good at _all. _

Jack told himself very firmly that Kel would not appreciate it if he threw up on her. "I don't think I can get any closer," he whispered, leaning his aching head against the backrest of the pilot seat in the dyne. "The border. Cursed."

"You look terrible," Sergeant Dom said cheerfully when he brought his horse up next to Kel's.

"I feel terrible, thanks," Jack muttered, opening one eye to look at Dom. The man continued to be very attractive—both of him, Jack seemed to be seeing double again—but at the moment, all Jack really wanted was a bed. Or maybe a bucket so he could throw up in it.

"Hey, Meathead!" Dom called over his shoulder. "Captain's feeling sick—"

Jack was feeling far too ill to question why Nealan of Queenscove responded to _Meathead_.

"Don't bother," Jack rasped when Neal came over. "I'm cursed. I can't—" he gestured to the river. Neal ignored him utterly, and dismounted his horse to clamber up onto the right wheel of the Gwen. He peered at Jack, at eyelevel when he stood on the wheel.

Jack thought of Ianto then, standing on the Gwen's wheel at Haven, when Jack had found the camp for the first time.

Monogamy, Jack thought woozily, watching Neal place a glowing hand on his shoulder, it did funny things to the libido. If he hadn't promised himself to at least try it for Ianto, he was sure he'd be feeling up Neal as he leaned over just now. Jack wanted to, of course, but in a distant sort of way. Rather than appreciating the warmth of the young knight for what it was, Jack found himself missing Ianto instead, and his hands and his voice and his lips. Ianto, who would've dragged Jack right out of the dyne and put him somewhere safe and warm and nurse him back to health despite any protests on Jack's part.

The hand on his shoulder glowed a darker green. "Gods _damned_-" Neal hissed. "You really are cursed," he snapped in frustration, taking his hand away. "When did _that_ happen? I can't do anything," he said angrily. "You need to leave here, Harkness. You need to leave here now, before you get any worse."

"S'the plan," Jack slurred. "Rikash has a comm.," he managed.

"A _what_?" Neal asked irritably, still standing on the wheel of the Gwen.

"A comm., a speaking spell, whatever you call it here," Jack muttered, shooing Neal away so he could close the door. Then, suddenly, there was a flash of clarity, like burning lightning against the fog in his mind. He was abandoning Ianto? What the hell was he thinking? "Wait. Rikash—" he called quietly. Rikash glanced at him. Neal hopped down, making room for the Stormwing.

"Yes?" Rikash sidled up to Jack from where he stood on the wing of the Gwen.

"This. Take this to Ianto." Jack fumbled into his belt.

His revolver, blessed by Mithros to never run out of ammunition, never left his side. It was an anachronism, and very, very dangerous in a place like Tortall. Ianto, however, would be unarmed without his aerodyne, and that was Bad and Wrong and somewhere in Jack's addled brain he rebelled against the thought of it. Even so, if he couldn't be there himself – and if this was indicative of the sort of change he'd go through, Jack knew he'd be next to useless out there—at least he could make sure Ianto was armed. Jack picked up the gun and offered it to the Stormwing. "To Ianto," he specified again, trying to focus on the blurry form of the Stormwing. "No one else. Don't let the Scanrans get it. Got it?"

Rikash extended a claw and took the gun from him, watching Jack quizzically. "Got it," he muttered.

"And f'r god's sake, don't hurt yourself," Jack mumbled. "I'll be—around here. As close as I can."

"You should head back to Mastiff," Kel said softly. She glanced at Owen of Jesslaw. "They think there's going to be a siege there. They'll need you."

"Bring Ianto back," Jack told her firmly, not quite thinking clearly. His head pounded dully.

"We will," she promised.

Jack looked at her fretfully, this tall, broad-shouldered girl with the glaive. She looked very heroic, he thought dizzily. "And take care of Rikash," he added. The Stormwing, perched on the Gwen's wing, snorted.

"I think it's going to be the other way around," he said dryly.

"We'll take care of him, Captain," Kel told Jack. He nodded.

"I want updates," he told the Stormwing. God, but he did not want to leave Ianto's brother in this kind of danger.

"Yeah, yeah, get out of here before you puke, lover boy," Rikash sneered, leaping off the wing of the Gwen so he could glide to the ground. "We'll be fine." He landed on one foot, keeping the other raised like a stork. The muzzle of Jack's gun peeked from between his toes, pointing down and away from the rest of his body. Good.

"Don't like this," Jack complained fuzzily.

"Harkness, you are getting worse. Get out of here," Rikash scolded.

"Ianto?"

"We'll get him. Go!" Rikash spread both his wings and flapped them while he stood on the ground, like a loon drying off its wings, or a mother bird shooing chicks out of a nest.

Jack turned the Gwen away from the border and engaged his engines. The feeling of physical relief as he sped away was almost immediate; as soon as he was in the air, facing away from the river, his head cleared. He blinked, and then made to turn on a wingtip, thinking he was mad for giving up just because he was a little nauseous; as he turned, the sickness came back full force.

"Alright, alright, I'm leaving," he muttered to Shakith, as though the god could hear him. Reluctant though he was, Jack knew his own limits.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could swear he heard a voice say, _Good!_

"I'm not going far, though," Jack whispered determinedly. "If you think I'm leaving them behind, you're very mistaken!"

* * *

_Please leave a review!_


	27. War: Into the Fire part 3

Hi, all! Part 3 at last. For those of you who know Lady Knight: the order of events in this chapter is quite different from those in the book - this is because Ianto and Rikash are there, and they're a bit disruptive. For those of you who don't know Lady Knight, well... just enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: There are parts of this chapter that are directly lifted from Lady Knight. Obviously, I don't own them.

* * *

**War: Into the Fire part 3**

Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones were a pair of idiots, Rikash thought, taking wing above Keladry of Mindelan's troop. He clutched at the revolver tightly. Honestly, sending a weapon like that behind enemy lines—what the hell was Jack _thinking_?

They had made it across the Vassa River and into Scanra thanks to a deal with a few smugglers that Nealan of Queenscove knew. Rikash soared quietly above the troop, breathing in the suspense and tension of a squad behind enemy lines.

Somewhere, his brother was frightened. Not terrified, nothing awful, just afraid. Afraid and unhurt.

Ianto always said Rikash projected colors, but in Rikash's mind, Ianto was a feeling. Coolness or heat, smooth or soft; an impression of metal, maybe, or cloth. Right now his emotions were covered with a cool blanket of shocked calm, the idiot. Bottled up emotions had a nasty tendency to burst. And, of course, Rikash would be the one to suffer for it, the Stormwing thought sourly. Damned, stupid humans.

.

* * *

.

They pulled the bag from Ianto's head again and he glared.

Small, high voices gasped around him and he blinked when someone familiar said, "Captain Jones!"

"We thought so," smirked Stenmun. He turned to his men. "Tie him up, stake him out, like the children. You, you and you are in charge of him," he ordered in Scanran and he gestured to three of the men. "If he fights, beat him. We need him alive, but not as we need the children."

Oh, good, Ianto thought darkly. He narrowed his eyes.

The three men who manhandled him to his position were surprised; Ianto didn't fight. That was pointless. He was surrounded by the enemy, and they were tying him up with orders to beat him if they needed. Getting beaten up was counter-productive. He held himself stiffly so his bonds would be loose when he relaxed, and he took stock of where he was.

There were children everywhere. His brain worked slowly, fuzzy from being under the bag for so long. Children.

Children.

They were going to Blayce. They were taking the kids to Blayce, where he would make more child-things. He probably wanted Ianto to engineer something that would fly for him.

Something inside Ianto cracked, and he gigged. The men drove stakes into the ground and tied him to them, and Ianto laughed and laughed and laughed.

He was going to the warehouse, to the factory. Fucking Cybermen indeed.

In the group, Lily Plowmen caught his eye. She was chained next to a soldier, but Ianto managed to wink at her through his hysterical laughter. Her small face lit into a smile.

He'd be damned if anything happened to that girl, Ianto thought fiercely.

.

* * *

.

Kel was refilling her water flask when her young manservant, Tobe, raced up to her. "Lady! Lady Kel, they ain't here! Lily and Meech and Gydo and them, they ain't here!"

Kel nodded. They had found the refugees, taken as slaves and marching north, up to the noble fiefs in Scanra, where they would no doubt be auctioned to the highest bidder. She and her men had harassed the Scanran troop and finally killed them, leaving the refugees free. Still, she had noticed that there were no children in sight during the fight, and Captain Jones was conspicuously absent. "I know," she told Tobe. She'd expected it, in a way. "They were taken?" she asked Fanche, a Haven refugee who had been taken by the Scanrans they had just killed.

"Sunset last night," Idrius, another refugee, said through puffy lips and broken teeth. "Across the ford. They're with a hundred and fifty soldiers and that animal Stenmun, riding."

"You'd've been proud," Fanche said wearily, "They fought like wildcats, all of them. We were terrified they'd be killed, but Stenmun wouldn't let them be hurt. Now he has them."

"What of Captain Jones?" Kel asked.

"What of him?" Fanche asked sharply.

Kel shared a glance with Dom. "He was taken captive. He was following you, marking the way. Midway he got caught. Was he with you?"

"No," Idrius said softly. "We didn't see him."

Kel bit her lip. In the group, Ianto's mare, Anwen, perked her ears forward. She was without a rider—without a saddle or bridle, even—but she had followed them loyally this far.

"Where where they taking the children?" Owen asked quietly.

"Upriver," said another refugee. "Up the Pakkai."

To Blayce, Kel thought grimly to herself. They were on their way to Blayce. Gods only grant that Ianto was with them.

.

* * *

.

Ianto spent three nights with Stenmun's people and the children before Kel caught up with them.

They kept him tethered tightly to a stake, three Scanrans around him at all times. He did not struggle. There was no reason to be beaten; the odds were too great. Besides, he had to be in good shape when he met Blayce, Ianto thought grimly. He wouldn't be able to kill him if he was still hurting from beatings on the road.

Haven's children were truly a marvel. They, too, knew better than to struggle by now, but just because they were not fighting physically did not mean they were not fighting at all.

Young children cried and screamed in the night, setting off the older ones, keeping the soldiers awake. Kids that Ianto knew to be good riders threatened to fall and bring their captors, sitting behind on horseback, with them. They drank too much of the water rations, they ate too much food. They tripped, they fell, and Ianto watched a small boy called Meech pull red hair off of his precious doll and drop it in the mud, marking the trail. Somehow, they slowed the movement of Stenmun's men.

And then, one night, a dog raced through camp, barking and snarling and chasing a cat.

There were no wild dogs in the Scanran woods.

The sound woke the littlest children, and they screamed and wailed in the night. The older children woke and cried, and the whole camp went up in commotion and racket. As the men yelled to the screaming children to go back to sleep, Ianto smiled to himself. He knew that dog. That dog was Jump, Kel's mongrel companion, who was like Anwen: far more intelligent than any animal had the right to be, because of Daine.

Kel had found them at last.

"What're _you_ smiling about, _Captain_?" sneered one of his captors in Scanran.

"Dog," Ianto shrugged. He was fluent in the Scanran language, thanks to Rikash, but it benefited him for them to think he only knew a handful of words. It would make him appear slightly dim, and they'd underestimate him. Not that he had a plan, of course, but if he ever came up with one it would be good if he could surprise them.

"Idiot," growled another soldier, cuffing him sharply. Ianto yelped. "Go back to sleep."

Ianto repeated the command, making sure to garble it. The soldier cuffed him again. "Sleep!" he said, loudly and slowly, putting clasped hands to his face.

Ianto repeated the word, as though learning it.

"Yes," barked the soldier. "_Go to sleep._"

Ianto resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Across the way, Lily was looking at him with her wide, dark eyes.

Ianto winked at her. She grinned.

_Jump? _She mouthed, glancing significantly in the direction the animals had run. Ianto smiled at her. The girl smirked back and turned her back, to disguise the communication. As she settled in, she tapped her foot against the ground twice.

Ianto's lips twitched, but he did not let himself grin. The rescue party was here.

He stretched out his mind, feeling for Rikash. The Stormwing responded; angry red, determined orange. Somewhere, there was a cool wash of blue; relief. There was also a distinct feeling of having something important, but the bond wasn't quite strong enough to communicate what it was, only that it felt hard and cold and awkwardly shaped and Rikash was vaguely alarmed by it.

The night passed slowly. The next day, the night watch did not come back from scouting. Ianto did not smirk.

"You," growled Stenmun in his rough Common, stalking over to him. "What do you know?"

"The square root of eighty one," Ianto replied serenely. The big man leaned down and wrenched Ianto to his feet by his hair. Ianto gasped, and then swallowed. Stenmun shook him viciously.

"Who is following us?" he snarled.

"You really think it was part of my plan to get captured?" Ianto asked him, gritting his teeth as Stenmun's fingers tightened in his hair. "Or that I could ask for a rescue mission from the wrong side of the border?"

The Scanran snarled and threw Ianto to the ground. Ianto fell in a heap, unable to catch his balance because his hands were tied. He tried to stand; Stenmun kicked him down and he gasped, suddenly unable to breath for the pain in his ribs. "You are lucky we need you alive," snarled the man, and he turned away. "Mount up," he ordered his men in the Scanran language. "We're being followed."

"But our dead—" started the sergeant who had reported back to him that the night watch had been killed.

"Leave them."

"What of Toff?" demanded the man. "He followed you loyally—"

"I said leave them!" spat Stenmun. "Prepare the horses. Gather the children."

"And if I had died, sir?" demanded the sergeant, pounding his chest. "I've followed you loyally all up and down this country—would you leave me too?"

Stenmun struck out then, knocking the sergeant back six feet. "Yes," he snarled, and the argument was over.

Dissension, Ianto thought. Now that's interesting.

"Move," growled one of his captors. Ianto made a show of groaning.

"Cannot," he replied in broken Scanran. It was mostly a lie – he imagined that he could move, if he really tried, but it would hurt a lot and probably irritate whatever kind of wound Stenmun had given him—but why make it easy for them?

"You have no choice, Air Force," snarled another of his three captors, the biggest one. He hauled Ianto out of the mud. Ianto's ribs wailed – bruised, he'd imagine—and threw him like a sack of potatoes onto the nearest horse.

"Ow," Ianto muttered, and glared at the soldier. He shifted and scrambled, breathing heavily as his ribs protested. He managed to get himself upright.

"Fucking liar," sneered the third of his captors.

Well, _yes_, Ianto thought, staring straight ahead. You think I'm going to make this easy?

Stenmun drove them hard up the road. As the days went on, Kel's squad picked off more scouts, eating away at the soldiers' confidence. Now the ratio was in their favor; there were more children than soldiers, and Ianto's heart swelled with pride as the children fought and dragged the company.

Even still, he thought darkly. He knew what he would do in Kel's place. She was using Stenmun to lead her and her company to Blayce. This was no rescue mission; it was an assassination attempt. They would make it to Blayce's workshop no matter how hard they fought. Kel would make sure of it, and frankly, Ianto would as well. He, too, wanted to find that bastard mage. Ianto was not a particularly violent sort, but after this war, after seeing Jack collapse in a heap of distress upon learning that those machines were made from children, after Ianto's own distress at their similarity to Cybermen, well-he wanted to look Blayce in the eye. He wanted to kill him, as fair pay for the lives lost in Tortall.

.

* * *

.

Rikash Moonsword was utterly unprepared.

Kel and her people had lingered in the village outside of the castle that housed Blayce the Childkiller. Stenmun had taken his captives inside days before Kel's men had arrived in the village, and the doors had shut. The fortress was impenetrable, unless one had a way in. Kel had sent Rikash to fly over the castle and hunt for pipes and canals, but he'd found nothing but a courtyard and barracks. The children seemed to be in the tower, and Ianto was nowhere to be found.

When he returned, landing carefully on the muddy, soft ground, he found Kel speaking with the villagers. They were drawing a map in the dirt, preparing their plan of attack, which would take place not this night but the next, for preparations. The villagers, long abused by Blayce, were more than willing to help Kel and her people into the fort.

Humans were so fickle, Rikash thought, taking a few flying hops over to the knight and the villagers. They didn't respond well to bad treatment, and Blayce was something of a monster.

There were no children in the village. There were no children at all. They'd been stolen in the night, fuel for those metal monsters and it was horrifying on a level Rikash could barely comprehend; Stormwings valued family. That anyone would steal away a child to make one of those war machines was sickening, even for a creature of battlefields such as himself.

In his left talon, Jack's gun sat, hard and cold and unnatural. It gave Rikash the chills, to be quite honest. It was wrong somehow, wrong in a way that made his feathers prickle. An anachronism, Ianto had called it. Something from the wrong place, the wrong time. It had to go to Ianto, of course. Ianto could use it.

Somewhere in his mind, Rikash's brother was projecting cool, quiet anger as well as faint disgust. Rikash spared him a brief question. The response was a feeling of wariness, and a burst of heat. Like that made any sense.

"There's sentries," Rikash said sharply to the cluster of people drawing the map. Kel looked up.

She was a warrior and that meant that, somewhere in Rikash's mind, she was food. The knight was tall, stocky, and her eyes were challenging. Rikash grinned at her, sure to show his teeth. "Sentries," he repeated, fly-hopping over to the map. "On the three points of the gates. You'll have to get them, first and foremost."

Rikash had been involved in wars before—he'd even flipped sides, he'd been at the heart of the Immortals War—but this was somehow different. This was offensive.

It was sort of weird.

"Did you find Ianto?" Kel asked.

Rikash shook his head, the bones in his hair clanking. "He's somewhere in the castle," he said. "And he's—" Rikash's voice faded. In his mind, there was a bright, bright, bright slash of cold, like frozen lightning. He sent another inquiry.

The response was a blast of panic so violent Rikash almost took wing. He staggered, sucking in a breath.

"Rikash?" Kel asked, standing.

"Something's—something's—" He'd stuttered, Rikash thought somewhere in the back of his mind. He couldn't believe he'd just stuttered.

"What's wrong?" Neal the healer asked, standing. "Stormwing. Rikash."

"Afraid," Rikash managed, the world starting to go hazy. "Very, very afraid—mad—memories_—Lisa!_" The name came from nowhere, came from everywhere, and it was more of an eagle's scream than a word. Rikash dropped Jack's gun, panicking, flailing; he took wing. He didn't know what he was doing, he didn't know where he was going, only that he had to get there, he had to fly—big, open sky—get away from the flames and the death and _delete delete delete—_

_.  
_

* * *

.

_He was going mad. _

_Ianto knew, deep in his heart, that he was going mad. Really, having a panic attack over a ball of twine was ridiculous. It was stupid. The thing above his head was a scissors, three knives and an axe tied with string to hang there. That's all it was doing. It was just hanging there. _

_The table was made of stone. It was a slab of stone. Ianto was spread eagle on a slab of stone with a bunch of random weapons tied together above his head. It didn't look anything like a conversion unit. _

_But it felt like one. _

_Oh, Christian God and Graveyard Hag, it felt like one. _

_He wanted to scream. He was sure he was screaming, frankly. How Stenmun had known that _this_ was Ianto's weakness was utterly beyond him. Completely beyond him. Who had he told? No one but Jack. No one but Jack knew about the Cybermen and the horrors of Torchwood one. No one. Ianto had made sure of it. _

_But he'd known. Blayce the Childkiller—the bloody mage had known. The man had a talent for illusions and mind control. Ianto had struggled as soon as Stenmun's thugs had brought him into the fucking workroom in this fucking castle, but as Blayce had laid eyes on him reality had gone hazy. Ianto had finally fought, spells had flown from his hands, but he was not strong enough. Mind control - he had not expected mind control. He must've spoken, they must've asked him, but he'd been mesmerized and the memory of it simply wasn't there. They'd brought him somewhere, Blayce giggling like a sick child himself along the way, and Ianto had gone mad when they'd opened a door and he'd seen the table from his nightmares. They'd strapped him down onto a metal slab and hung the twine above his head, and Blayce, a mousy haired nothing of a man, had whispered, "Now I want you to think about what you've done." And he'd giggled again and sat down to watch. Sometimes, on the edges of his awareness, Ianto knew that Blayce left to experiment, but he always came back. The visions were worse when he came back._

_"What memories," he'd croon. "What fascinating memories you have. I can make such things with your mind..." And Ianto would shout and fight until the cloud overtook him once more.  
_

_This was stupid. They weren't even torturing him. Ianto was just—just spread eagle. On a slab. With that monster sitting on a chair next to him, with enough magic in the air to make him choke. And the scissors above his head looked like the knives of a conversion unit—oh, god—_

_-oh, god—_

_ He was going to be converted. There were people screaming, the building was burning, Lisa was dead, dead, dead and he was going to be converted into a Cyberman, here in Tortall where there were no Cybermen, could never be Cybermen. It was a ball of twine and some scissors and knives but Ianto only saw the blades, those awful, blazing burning whirling blades that slashed skin to ribbons and spilled blood on the walls. The screams, oh god the screams, the blazing heat, the hot metal embedded in Lisa's skin and he was going to die, here and now in Tortall but not, he was going to die as he should have done in Torchwood. He was going to die the way Lisa had died. The slab was stone beneath his back but he felt metal, felt heat from nowhere, felt death creeping up his limbs. The whirling blades above his head did not move because they were twine and not mechanical and he _knew_ that, but it felt, it felt, it felt like a conversion unit. _

_His hands were shackled to the slab. The conversion unit. He was going to become a Cyberman. Ianto's thoughts spiraled down into madness. _

_Get me out, get me out, get me out—_

_._

_

* * *

.  
_

"Neal," Kel said.

He looked up as he held a green glowing hand over a deep gash in a soldier's chest.

The plan had been successful. With the help of the villagers, they'd sneaked into the castle through the pipes, carefully, quietly, despite the Stormwing Rikash shrieking like a mad eagle above the village just outside the castle gates for the past two nights. Shocked at the sudden betrayal, Kel had been tempted to shoot him, but she'd promised Captain Jack to look after the Stormwing—never mind that's he was going to blow their cover.

And blow their cover he did; the battle had been quick and fierce, the Scanrans already awake from the Stormwing's cries. They hadn't had time to find the children, if there were any to be found; the battle had taken their resources.

But Kel's party had managed to open the gate; the rest of Dom's squad streamed through, along with Owen and Tobe and the horses. Anwen, Ianto's mild-mannered mare, had been particularly vicious. It had been close and wild, but it was nearly over. A few Scanran soldiers fought to reach the open gate, but Kel could see that they wouldn't make it. They had won, and not a moment too soon.

She was standing in the courtyard, now nearly empty. "Neal, I'm going to find the children," she told her friend, "And then I'm going after Blayce. If I'm not out when you've secured the place, send out a party to find the children and take our people home."

Neal nodded, half of his concentration on the soldier he was mending.

"I'm comin' with you, Lady," Tobe said stubbornly, next in line to be healed. "They've still got Loey and Meech and Lily an' the others." An arrow was protruding from her boy's shoulder. He was so young, Kel thought painfully.

"No," she said, pushing him back down gently. "Let Neal heal you. I'll get them, Tobe."

"Lady—"

"No," Kel's voice was firm and brooked no argument. "Not another word from you, Tobe. That's an order."

Her boy scowled fiercely, but he dropped his eyes. "Gods all guard you, Lady," Tobe whispered after a moment. She squeezed his unhurt shoulder and slipped away.

The main hall was empty. Kel climbed to the third floor as Jump, a cat, and several dogs spread out around her. "The children," she whispered to her dog. "Find the children."

Sweat trickled down Kel's temples as she watched the animals fan out. She still had not found Blayce or Stenmun, which meant they were still here. Both would know of the battle; it had been loud enough for that. Had they slipped away? Had she missed her chance?

Jump and his scouts returned, conveying news by tapping their paws, standing on their hind legs, shaking or nodding their heads. With a very quiet yip, Jump confirmed that there were no men on this floor except for two; a mage, behind a locked door, and someone was screaming.

No children, Kel thought grimly. "Ianto?" she asked.

Jump nodded, growling.

She could not leave Ianto to be tortured. "Take me to him," she ordered Jump. "And the rest of you—find the children. If you can, bring them down to the courtyard where Neal is. If you can't, come find me." The dogs nodded and scattered.

"Jump," Kel sighed. Her dog wagged his tail once, as though trying to reassure her, and then trotted down the hall. Alert, wary, she followed.

They ran into no one; the hall was utterly deserted. It was eerie—she knew there were hundreds of children here, captured and waiting. The villagers had told her of the fate of their own children. Blayce took them, and cleaned them and fed them and watched them play; he coddled them and cuddled them and slaughtered them. Somewhere, they were here.

Jump led her to a door. She took a step towards it, and the door moved away. She stepped again to close the distance; now it seemed a hundred yards away, which was much too far for the size of the keep. It was an illusion, and while it was a good one, Kel saw it for what it was. She walked forward and placed her hand forward. She saw the door far away, but she felt it here with her palm, and pushed.

It swung open.

"Get me out," a familiar voice was begging, high pitched and tumbling off the edge and into hysteria, "get me out, get me out, get me out get me out—"

Ianto Jones was spread eagle on a stone table, hands and feet shackled. Above him was some kind of weird contraption; knives, an axe and scissors were hung on the ceiling with twine, and his eyes were huge and wild and fixed on the weapons. "Get me out," he wailed. "Get me out get me out—"

"Ianto," Kel breathed. She raced to his side. "Ianto, it's alright." He didn't look hurt, aside from some bruising on his face and arms. He jolted, cringing, and then looked at her. Kel caught her breath.

He was gone. The first thought that raced through her head was that Ianto Jones was gone, because there was nothing but insanity in his eyes. Somewhere, a door creaked as it opened. Then Ianto spoke, low and frantic. "Kel. Kel. Get me out of here. Please, please get me out, get me _out_-"

She wasted no time. Kel reached for the manacles that bound his hands; they were locked. "Keys, are there keys?"

"Break them, I don't care, just get me out of here," Ianto begged, almost sobbing. She did as she was told.

She slammed the butt of her glaive to weird shackles that held Ianto's wrists; the metal warped and his breath hitched. She tried again, this time at an angle, and it cracked. Once more, and the left one popped open. Ianto jerked his hand to his chest. Blue fire snapped around his fingers, and suddenly every door in the room slammed closed. Somewhere, someone cursed. Quickly, Kel went to the other shackle, so he could sit up.

When she moved on to his feet, Ianto sat ramrod straight and reached up. He fisted his hand around the twine that held the blades above his head and pulled, hard. The twine snapped, and he hurled the bundle across the room with more hatred than Kel would imagine her friend could contain. Finally, she got him free.

"This is for you," she said, and handed him Jack's weapon, dropped by Rikash. Ianto blinked at it.

"Jack," he whispered, and then shook his head; he snatched the weapon from Kel. "Thank you," he added breathlessly.

"I suppose it's pointless to ask if you're alright?" Kel asked him grimly. Ianto did not look at her; instead he scanned the room, eyes flashing.

"Rather, yes." Ianto held Jack's weapon with confidence. Kel wondered how one used it.

"Blayce—" she started.

"He's here," Ianto spat. He rubbed his thumb along the back of Jack's strange weapon; it made an odd, ominous creaking sound. "He heard you coming. He's here. He tried to get out while you broke the manacles, but he's an idiot who likes to watch so he didn't leave right away. I closed the doors. He's trapped here. It's an illusion, like everything else in this fucking place."

Kel spun around, searching, her glaive at the ready. She saw no one.

"Afraid now, are you?" Ianto snarled to the empty air. Kel glanced at him, shocked at the hate that dripped from his voice. "Trying to run like a coward. _Hiding_ like a coward. I thought you would." He held out the weapon, and his forefinger, below the long cylinder, pulled on a lever.

_CRACK! _Kel jumped, staring. Smoke issued from the cylinder, and there was a tiny hole in a cabinet, amid cracks and shattered wood that had not been shattered a moment before.

It was a catapult. Captain Jack's weapon was a very tiny, very powerful catapult.

"Go on then," Ianto hissed, sliding from the stone slab. "Hide. I have all day." _CRACK! _He shot at another cabinet, and this time he hit the bottom of it. It trembled, cracked, and slowly, slowly collapsed. Dust rose up like a cloud. It rose, and rose, and rose, and Ianto shouted. Blue fire surrounded him, fighting back the cloud.

"You ought to treat me with respect," came a high-pitched, whiny voice in Common from every direction. "I'm a great mage. Better than _you'll_ ever be."

"_Kel!_" Ianto's voice thundered, and she spun on instinct. Her glaive slashed through a mirage standing behind her; a little brown mouse of a man, pasty-skinned, unkempt hair, unhealthy looking. He giggled nervously.

"For all you know, I'm not even in this room. Isn't that right, Ianto?" his voice rose, and suddenly the cloud of dust turned red, and Kel heard a distant sound, like metal on stone.

_CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! _The weapon went off wildly.

"Ianto, it's a trap—" Kel gasped as a projectile buried itself in the brick of the wall behind her. "He's trying to get you to shoot me!"

She heard the Captain take a deep breath. The red cloud thickened. _Delete, _whispered a thousand voices from very far away. Ianto made a sick sobbing noise.

"Go on," Blayce's voice was soft and persuasive. "Go on, Ianto Jones. Kill her and it stops. Kill her and it's over. Kill her, and you've won—"

And suddenly Kel saw him.

The fog thinned as blue fire, Ianto's Gift, sparked through it—Ianto was not strong enough to end the spell, but he could fight it. It left him weak, staring at his tormentor. Blayce did not seem to notice, as he fiddled with a pendant in his hand; a mesmerizing spell. Ianto's eyes were fixed. He raised Jack's devastating weapon, trembling, aimed at Kel, under Blayce's control.

She did not even need to think.

Kel lunged with her glaive and caught Blayce Childkiller behind the knees as he was distracted with Ianto, slashing the tendons that kept him upright. With a cry, the mage fell to the ground, and the spell was broken. Ianto staggered back as though pushed, and Kel neatly beheaded the Gallan at last.

"That was a far kinder death than you deserved," she told the corpse. She looked up.

"Ianto?" she asked.

He was leaning heavily on the stone slab, panting as though exhausted. "Ianto, are you—"

"_Kel, duck!_" he thundered suddenly. Kel fell to the ground.

_CRACK! _The weapon went off and she whirled; Stenmun Kinslayer staggered back from the threshold, dropping his axe in shock. Blood gushed from his shoulder.

_CRACK! _Ianto shot him again, this time between the eyes. The Scanran jerked back, struck, and blood splattered out of the back of his skull as he fell to the ground, dead.

Kel gaped.

"No less than you deserve," Ianto hissed at the corpse, although to which Kel couldn't be sure. He was shaking.

"Come on," she told him. "Let's find the children. My men have taken the castle, but we have to get out of here, fast."

He nodded, wild eyed, and shoved the weapon into the belt of his tunic. "Let's go."

Kel's scouts, the dogs, were waiting for them in the corridor. One of them, called Shepherd, yipped and led the way.

Down they went to the second floor. There was a pack of dogs around a locked door. Ianto made an impatient snarling noise; blue fire gathered around the handle and the door opened.

Within there was a stairwell, and children clustered around the bottom of it. Kel stared, unable to recognize them. They were clean, dressed in silks, velvets, lace and brocade, their hair brushed and ordered. They looked nothing like the children she knew, the children of Haven.

And then she saw Meech, dressed as a pretty lordling in a white velvet tunic, hose and lace; in his arms was a half-bald doll. He raced to her from the crowd of frightened children and hugged her fiercely around her armored waist.

"Meech," she whispered.

"Lily?" Ianto called, looking through the scared faces of the children. "Where's Lily?"

"They took her, sir," whispered one of Tobe's friends, Meech's sister Gydo. "That—that—he wanted to try something, he said." She swallowed, and Ianto swore.

"I'm looking for her," he said, and Kel did not argue with the fire in his eyes.

"Find me in the courtyard," she told him. "We won't leave you. Jump, go with him." She nodded to her dog, and then gathered the children.

.

* * *

.

Ianto was not in good shape.

Somewhere down the line, he'd lost it, he thought to himself as he staggered down the hall, away from Kel and the children. He didn't know whether they'd won. He didn't know his way around the castle. But the thought of that monster Blayce _trying something_ on Lily, on that earnest little girl, made his blood boil.

He's dead, Ianto thought to himself. Kel killed him. Ianto himself had killed Stenmun. With a gun, even. They were so—efficient. He clutched Jack's revolver as though the weapon could offer the same comfort that Jack did. His heart pounded.

"Rikash," he whispered.

The response was a blaze of burning, furious red. The Stormwing was fine, and blisteringly angry. Well, of course he was. Ianto was, too.

Kel's ugly dog suddenly froze, short hair standing on end. He growled.

"What is it, Lassie?" Ianto asked, but the joke fell flat. The dog gave him a perplexed glance and then fixed his small, beady eyes on the closed door once more. Within, something crashed.

"Lily?" Ianto asked. He gripped the gun, and shot off the lock. He was too tired to use his Gift. Slowly, the door creaked open.

"_Ianto?_" asked Lily's voice from within, and when Ianto saw her he drew a sharp breath of horror.

She was—she was—oh, god, she was—

The nightmare didn't end, Ianto thought, trying valiantly not to hyperventilate. It was still going on. The girl he'd promised to protect—she—she—

Half metal, half-completed and horrible, Lily Plowmen jerked herself free of the slab of stone. She was small, strong, naked, patched like a quilt with metal and she raced toward Ianto with tiny, clawed fingers extended.

Ianto slammed the door shut and tried not to scream. The door shuddered with the weight of the girl's body, and her claws scraped against the stone on the other side.

She was still alive. She was not powered by the Gift; Blayce's magic had left her with his death. All of those metal machines, they would have stopped working when Blayce died. That was the law of magic, Numair had explained it.

But Lily was alive; she was half-Lily and half-monster, like Lisa had been. Like Lisa. Like Lisa. The phrase repeated in his mind, over and over. Not Cyberman. Half monster. Oh god. Oh, god. She was an experiment. One of Blayce's monsters, made to last longer than he did. She was powered by her own life, not Blayce's. Her own magic. She'd been Gifted when she was alive. She was _still alive_.

"Ianto?" she asked from within. She _remembered. _

Kel's dog whined, and Ianto hyperventilated, back pressed to the door, leaning his weight on it, fingers splayed, heart racing. He couldn't move. He was lost in a nightmare. Lilylilylily—

He couldn't kill her. He couldn't leave her. He couldn't fucking _move._

Kel's dog had disappeared.

Ianto did not know how long he stood there, back pressed up against the door. There were sounds within, and then there was silence. His sobbing breaths were loud in his own ears. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was having a nervous breakdown, but that was a tiny voice amid the chaos behind his eyes. He'd failed. He'd failed _again. _Lily had—she was the same as Lisa. Half converted. Half dead. Horrible. He couldn't save her, he _hadn't_ saved her—

There was a jingling within the room.

"She got out, Ianto," said Rikash's voice from the other side of the door. Lost, Ianto sobbed. Was Rikash converted, too?

"Stop panicking, you're making _me_ panic. There's a window. She escaped. I got in. It's just me. Open the door." Rikash's voice was strained. Ianto took a breath and tried not to wail.

"Ianto?" Keladry of Mindelan, as well as several soldiers, bandaged or bleeding and all looking weary, strode down the hall. "Jump came to get m—Ianto, what happened?" Kel jogged to crouch beside him.

"L-Lily," Ianto stuttered, trembling.

"She's gone. Lady Knight." Rikash's voice cracked from the other side of the door. "Blayce experimented on her. She's… not human. Not anymore."

Ianto gibbered something about Lisa, but he was sure it didn't make sense.

"She's gone?" Kel asked the door sharply.

"Gone," Rikash confirmed. "I don't think she's Lily anymore. She's run off to the—the woods."

Ianto sobbed. Behind the door, Rikash made a soft, distressed noise.

"Alright," Kel said. "Alright. Come on, Ianto."

Ianto swallowed, unable to move. Kel and her men pried him off the door, and it opened.

Rikash was standing by the threshold, and Ianto wanted to wail. The Stormwing was a wreck. His feathers were twisted and sticking out in every direction, his eyes were wild. He shook, he tottered, and when he spoke his voice was faint. "I think," he said very slowly, "that we're going insane."

"I w-want Jack," Ianto managed to say clearly. Somewhere, somewhere in his mind, he thought wildly that Jack could make it better. "Please," he added softly.

"Come on, Ianto," Kel whispered, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and leading him away, "We're going to bring you to Jack."

.

* * *

.

Some orders were stupid. That was essentially what Lord Wyldon had said.

Flying back and forth along the border had felt foolish, so Jack had gone to Mastiff, a nervous wreck. There had been a battle, and Jack, of course, had swooped in and saved the day—what he did best, if he did say so himself. After, Lord Wyldon had given Jack a thorough dressing-down when he had landed, and what amounted to a slap on the wrist.

Then he'd sent troops up to wait on the border. Jack had told him, on no uncertain terms, that every three days he would spend an hour patrolling the aforementioned border. Lord Wyldon had told him to spend more than an hour, and kill any Scanrans that tried to cross.

"It was a bad move," Lord Wyldon had admitted softly. "It is a bad idea to issue orders that will not be obeyed."

Jack, who had commanded a fair amount of people in his time, snorted. "Yeah," he'd agreed scornfully. "It is. Especially when you _know_ they're not going to be obeyed."

The knight inclined his head. "Indeed. This is why you're going to patrol the border. I would prefer to have my Air Force Captain in hand, rather than rogue. Don't you agree?" It a rhetorical question. The man was not smiling.

"Well, if you want me in _hand_," Jack leered, and Lord Wyldon glared.

"Don't try my patience, Captain."

Jack shrugged nonchalantly and walked away dismissively. He clambered into the Gwen, and took off.

It was three weeks of anxious, half-delirious patrolling. This close to the border, Jack was almost constantly sick. If he turned the dyne away from the river, he felt a little better, but after three long weeks all he felt was mostly misery. Nevertheless, he absolutely refused to be anywhere else; the damned gods would just have to deal with it.

He'd been feeling terrible, stomach unsettled and head absolutely pounding when he caught sight of Kel and her party crossing the river at last. He squinted, tried to fly closer, and saw double. Right, no good. He flew back, faced away from the river and his head cleared. Had he really seen Kel's people?

Jack turned the dyne around. His head pounded immediately, but he squinted; yes, yes, they didn't look Scanran.

He whooped in delight and flew a fast loop-the-loop in the air. He engaged his flame throwers, and flew his flag delightedly, getting as close to the river as he could without vomiting. The curse dissuaded him every time he faced the border, and he fought it valiantly.

He dipped and dived and swerved when he felt sick. He hoped that somewhere, the god Shakith was annoyed. As they got closer and started to board a series of boats in order to cross the river, he squinted for Rikash.

There! A flash of metal in the sun. Why was the Stormwing not flying?

"Rikash!" Jack called into the speaker grille. The Stormwing had a speaking spell in his medallion, after all. At this point, he must be in range. "Rikash, is that you? Do you have Ianto?"

"Jack?" Rikash's voice was weary, and not even mocking. Jack frowned. "Jack, are you there?"

"Yes. What happened? Do you have Ianto?" Jack demanded again.

"We have Ianto," sighed Rikash. "We're alive, don't you worry. Saying we're well might be pushing it."

Jack swerved the Gwen and headed for the clearing where Wyldon and his party was camped, waiting for Kel's people. "What happened?" he asked. Silence. "Rikash?"

"Ianto's personal hell," murmured the Stormwing. "That's what happened."

Jack stared at the speaker grille, alarmed. "What does that mean?"

"You'll see us in an hour or so," Rikash sighed. "He'll tell you himself. He should tell you himself."

That did not bode well.

Jack returned swiftly to the camp and reported that Kel's party was crossing the river. As the soldiers moved out, Jack clambered onto Red's back. His gelding had, at last, fully healed from his battle with colic. Red huffed a little, turning his head to glance back at Jack.

"I'm alright," Jack told his horse quietly, stroking the soft neck. "No, really. I'll stop you if I get sick, okay?"

Red snorted, as though not believing him. "I will," Jack said. "Really, I will." the gelding tossed his head and followed the party without urging from Jack. Jack scowled. "Cheeky," he muttered. They moved out.

Red halted as they cleared the woods, and Jack felt too sick to urge him on. Instead they waited as Wyldon and his men rode to meet Kel and Dom's squad. Jack tried to count the men – there looked to be less of them – but it was rather difficult to do when seeing double. His head hurt as it was, so he stopped.

He waited.

Kel and her men dismounted and bowed before Lord Wyldon, while the children and refugees followed the healer Duke Baird. Where was Ianto?

Jack squinted.

There.

Anwen was fidgeting anxiously behind Kel's monstrous roan gelding. Ianto sat on her back, but his posture was not as it usually was. Ianto had learned to ride like a gentlemen; back on Earth, it would have been called hunter-seat. Now his back was slumped instead of upright, his shoulders drooped, his toes pointed to the ground. It was like someone had hauled him, unresponsive, onto Anwen's back. He was barely holding the reins.

Rikash still perched on the bow of one of the boats. His feathers were in disarray, and his posture also spoke of defeat. When someone shooed him off the boat, the Stormwing took wing and landed on a rock, eyes downcast. What had happened?

Jack urged Red closer, but when the horse took a step his stomach heaved. He jerked back on the reins, probably harder than was necessary, gasping for breath. Red tossed his head as though to say _I told you so. _

"Ianto!" Jack called, pulling the reins so Red backed up. "Ianto…?"

Lord Wyldon turned back to give him a disapproving glare, but Ianto's head snapped up. He stared at Jack and Anwen wheeled and bolted. Ianto didn't move with her; he just sat in the saddle and hung on, swaying precariously with each of Anwen's strides. The mare pitched to a halt beside Red, snorting and gasping as though alarmed. Red nickered at her in concern.

"Jack," whispered Ianto. His eyes—the look in his _eyes_—

"Oh my god," Jack breathed. He reached out, since the horses were close enough, and pulled Ianto roughly into his arms. "Ianto what _happened_?"

Ianto buried himself into Jack's shoulder. His breath hitched once, then twice, and then he sobbed.

"Ianto," Jack murmured, shocked, rocking him awkwardly as they were both still on horseback. "It's alright. It's okay. I've got you, I've got you—" Alarmed, he stared at the back of Ianto's head, clutching him tightly to his chest. Strong, dignified Ianto, undone and broken in his arms—what could've possibly—?

"Kel says she found him strapped to a table," said a low voice. Jack glanced down; Sergeant Domitan was on foot, looking up at them.

"What?" he asked. The man shrugged.

"She said he was strapped to a stone table with a bunch of knives tied above his head. I thought you might know what that meant, because the rest of us didn't." Dom regarded Jack curiously. "He's been silent the whole ride back. We tried to help, but…" his voice trailed.

Jack leaned his cheek against the soft hair tickling his jaw, and felt Ianto's warm tears on his neck. Strapped down to a table, with knives…?

"C-conversion unit," Ianto gasped, breath hitching. "F-felt like a-a—"

And everything made sense.

"That bastard," Jack snarled, gripping Ianto fiercely. "That bloody, fucking _bastard—_" He looked down at Ianto. "Some sort of memory spell?" he asked tersely.

Ianto nodded against his neck, trembling. Jack snarled furiously.

"Thought you'd get it," Dom nodded.

"Tell me he's dead," Jack hissed coldly, holding Ianto close protectively. "Tell me someone killed him." He pressed a swift kiss on the back of Ianto's head.

"I killed him." Kel was apparently finished with her meeting with Lord Wyldon. "I cut off his head. Ianto killed his dog, Stenmun, with the weapon you gave him." Raoul strode up behind Kel and rested a supportive hand on her shoulder.

"Good," Jack growled. He kissed Ianto's head again. "Very good."

Ianto trembled. "L-Lily," he whispered. Jack's blood ran cold.

"She died, didn't she?" Jack murmured into Ianto's hair, greasy and matted from the journey. Ianto heaved another sob. Children. Why was it always children?

"Worse. Like—like Lisa—Jack, I couldn't—" He babbled, half incoherent, into Jack's shoulder.

_Like Lisa. _Jack stared at the back of Ianto's head, horrified. He turned to Kel.

"Lily," he said sharply. "She's—half—half of one of those things? How is she still alive?"

Kel gritted her teeth, eyes grim. "Neal thinks she was an experiment," she murmured guiltily. "That Blayce was making something that would last after he died."

"People like him like legacies," Raoul put in, squeezing Kel's shoulder. "That wasn't your fault."

Ianto moaned quietly into Jack's shoulder.

"It wasn't yours either," Jack told Ianto fiercely. "Look at me. Ianto. Ianto Jones. Look at me." He pulled back and tucked a finger under Ianto's chin, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. They were red and swollen and guilty, and they broke Jack's heart. "It was not your fault," Jack told him slowly. "Hear? It wasn't your fault." Ianto's face crumbled, but Jack didn't let him cry; he kissed him, swiftly, on the mouth.

"I couldn't kill her," Ianto whispered when Jack pulled away. "I—I—"

"Of course you couldn't," Jack sighed, hugging him close. "Of course you couldn't."

"Come on," Raoul said softly. "We're all out in the open. We should head to camp and prepare to go back to Mastiff."

"Ianto's out of commission," Jack growled. Ianto laid his head on Jack's shoulder without saying anything, eyes red and miserable.

"That wasn't even in question," Raoul sighed. "Come on."

Jack squeezed Ianto once more and then started to disentangle himself. Ianto let him, but just as Jack leaned away, Ianto grasped Jack's chin.

"Hmm?" Jack asked in surprise. Ianto kissed him, long and hard.

Behind then, Rikash gave an eagle's scream and took off, catching a wind current and breaking the moment. It was a long, long road back to Mastiff, Jack thought grimly. Ianto pulled away and nudged Anwen to a trot. Anxiously watching his swaying, slumping back, Jack urged Red to follow.


	28. War's End: Lily's Story

**War's End: Lily's Story**  
**(Or, a Story of Forgiveness)**

* * *

"-and then Owen looked at me and said, 'can I go home _now_?'" Ianto smirked, and there were a few drowsy chuckles. As he finished the tale, the dorm went quiet, except for the small sounds of children shifting in their beds.

It was soon after the tenth bell, and Captains Jack and Ianto were both sitting on the floor, legs outstretched, shoulders touching. The girls and the boys in the flight academy dorm were separated by a thin partition wall in the middle of the big room; this far into the program, all of the cadets were all friends.

"Can we have another story, Captain Jack?" asked Silvia's sleepy voice from the other side after a long silence.

"Another?" Ianto asked chidingly from beside the other Captain. He was leaning his head comfortably on Jack's shoulder. The dorm was dark enough that the cadets would only see the vague outlines of the Captains sitting together. Their relationship was no secret, but Ianto was a private sort; the dark made him comfortable enough to snuggle without fear of becoming a spectacle. "I just told you one."

"Now it's Jack's turn," Dan said quietly, looking over at them from his bottom bunk. "That's how it goes. Don't you know that by now, Captain Jones?"

Ianto smiled and Jack chuckled softly. That gentle laugh filled the room with such warmth, Ianto thought dreamily, sleepy himself. Jack was terrified of kids, it was true, but he so obviously loved the cadets, all eight of them, that it was almost painful. "Alright then," Jack smiled. "Do you want another about Torchwood?"

"Tell us about the Scanran war," murmured Tina, on the girls' side of the partition. "About the metal monsters. Were they really made from children?"

Ianto felt his muscles coil uncomfortably as Jack stiffened beside him, and he rubbed his cheek on the other man's tense shoulder. "That's not really conducive to sweet dreams, Tina," Ianto scolded gently, concealing his anxious heart rate.

"I want to know, too," whispered Olivia softly.

"Alright, hold your horses," Jack sighed. He settled an arm around Ianto's shoulders. "We'll tell you the story."

Ianto closed his eyes against Jack's neck, almost wishing he wouldn't. Jack was trying his damndest to do right by the cadets, and that meant fewer secrets – but even still, some stories hurt more than others.

There was a happy murmur from around the room, and the sounds of children settling once more. Ianto swallowed, and Jack's arm tightened.

"It's not a nice one, though," Jack warned quietly, pressing a reassuring kiss into Ianto's hair. "Should I not tell it?" he asked Ianto softly.

"The Torchwood ones aren't nice, either," protested Liam from his top bunk. "We like them anyway."

"Tell it," Ianto murmured into Jack's neck. "Lily doesn't deserve to be forgotten."

Jack played with Ianto's hair gently. "Alright," he sighed. "Alright." He looked around the bunks of the children and then down at Ianto. Encouragingly, and also to reassure Jack that he was alright, Ianto stroked his chest. Jack murmured something inarticulate at him and clasped his hand. His heart fluttered softly under Ianto's palm. This was not a happy story for Jack, either.

"Five years ago," Jack started reluctantly, "Before the war began, there was a little girl called Lily. She used to live in Bay Cove, but one day there was an earthquake, and the town was destroyed. There was plenty of relief, from the Riders and the Own and even Ianto and I helped, but sometimes it isn't enough. Her parents died in the quake, and she was kidnapped by bandits. They tied her to a horse and rode hard, up into the north, but it took them an awfully long time. She was hungry and cold and scared, and at night she dreamed that she would die." He hugged Ianto close, clearly uncomfortable. Ianto let him, watching with soft, sad eyes.

Lily was still sharp in his memory, with her clear brown eyes and eager, piping voice. She'd followed Ianto around like a puppy, and he'd been quite taken with her. The girl had been brilliant; she'd charge the dyne, she'd clean the launchers, and she had such a sense of humor, such a wonderful grin. He'd taken care of her, was almost willing to adopt her, the sweet girl who wanted to fly. Jack knew her story through Ianto, through the bits and snatches she'd told him and he'd put together after the girl's death. She deserved to be remembered, Ianto had told Jack fiercely after the war, as he wrote the story almost obsessively in his journal. Her story deserved to be recorded and retold.

Ianto drew a breath, surprised that he was still sensitive to the memory, even after the war was over for two years.

That Jack could tell these children about her without collapsing was a very large step. He'd killed Lily, after all; she was yet another child to add to his frighteningly long list. Jack, like Ianto, had fallen apart at the end of the Scanran war, after Lily's death. But Jack was so much better now, Ianto thought proudly to himself, pressing in close. Jack could probably never tell the cadets about Steven, but maybe, one day, he would even be able to talk about the Four-five-six without breaking out in a cold sweat.

This planet. This stupid, damned planet that played on both of their nightmares, Ianto reflected ruefully. He rubbed Jack's fingers softly, and Jack squeezed his hand.

"The bandits themselves were attacked," Jack continued quietly. "Lily untied herself and broke free, although she kept the horse. She had no idea where she was but she rode, she rode anyway, just to get away from the stench of death and fear.

She spent six days in the woods; she was so far north that she had snow for water, and she'd stolen a little bit of food to eat, but not much. She could not hunt. She was attacked by a Coldfang for stealing the horse; they ran and ran and ran until they reached a town called Goatstock, where she begged and survived through the employ of a goatherd for a year or so." He sighed.

The dorm was silent for a moment, the only sound the creak of someone shifting in bed. Jack was a good story teller. Ianto remembered Lily telling him about the forest, about running and finding Goatstock, and dreaming of death.

The silence weighed heavy in the room before Jack continued. "And then the war began, and everything went to hell. The town was raided, and when the goatherd was killed in battle she fled with the refugees to Fort Giantkiller, my base, where they were fed and clothed and kept warm for the winter—sort of."

A small huff from the back; Gillham Smithy, one of the cadets, knew all about the generosity of nobles, or lack thereof.

"I had been stationed at Giantkiller since it had been built, and I suppose that was when I first met her. I think she was like Dan, when I first met him." Jack's voice warmed on a smile and he glanced at the bunk where Dan was drifting drowsily somewhere before sleep. Apparently, Jack had met Dan at Blue Harbor during the war but Jack said he barely remembered it—he had a tendency to block out all memories of children, with the exception of his beloved cadets. Still, Dan remembered, and he had told Ianto once that it had been a defining moment in his life.

"All bright eyes and wonder," Jack continued softly. "Of course, I had bigger things to worry about at the time, so I wasn't paying much attention. You all know how I am with kids." There was a sleepy chuckle around the dorm. They all knew Jack was both terrified and overprotective, and the easiest way for him to deal with it was to push children away.

"But I think she watched me. It was good initiative, admittedly, but I was too busy to notice. War, after all, had broken out, and there were those machines on the loose." His voice went dark. "Seven feet tall with extra joints, knives and blades for fingers and toes; their heads were domed like something out of a nightmare, and their teeth were made from broken glass, or so it seemed. They were dark metal with chains in their joints, and long whiplash, metal tails. They were horrible, but what was within was worse. I could take them out with a projectile weapon to their skull, and a white mist would float away. Sometimes they screamed for their mothers." He swallowed and his fingers tightened convulsively around Ianto's. Ianto stroked his palm with his thumb, and let him continue.

"With the thaw, a new train came, though: Keladry of Mindelan. The Protector of the Small swept the refugees away, much to my relief. She set up a refugee camp called Haven, and that was where little Lily really shined." He smiled sadly into Ianto's hair. "Because Haven was not a military camp, and it was close to the boarder. It became Ianto's base, because not only was it often not on any maps—it was just a refugee camp, after all—but it was small, low profile, and a perfect hiding spot for a spydyne."

"And there she met Ianto, who's much better with kids than I am. Ianto took her under his wing, as he does, and she learned to fix the Tosh when she came back from a storm, and to shine the steel feathers on her wings and hull. Lily was slightly Gifted, so she could even charge the engines. And she was small enough that Ianto sometimes let her fly with him." Ianto smiled sadly into Jack's shoulder at the memories, heart twisting. Lily had been wonderful.

"But it was not to be," Jack sighed. "Because Haven was destroyed in a raid, and the children taken hostage. The Tosh Mark I went down in the battle, as you all know. Stenmun, Blayce's dog, marched the children up to Scanra, and Ianto followed after them on horseback, marking the way, only to be captured himself." He squeezed Ianto's shoulders gently. Ianto cast his eyes to the floor, not particularly wanting to relive this part of the story. "Lily was one of the last to be made into one of those monsters; Blayce the Childkiller conducted experiments on her, so she lived after his death, a patchwork of metal and girl. Kel killed Blayce soon after." He sighed and nuzzled Ianto's hair. Ianto held himself stiff and still and tried not to remember. "Ianto killed Stenmun with a bullet through the brain from Blayce's workshop. But Lily was still around, and the Tosh was destroyed." Jack swallowed.

"She became my personal project when she crossed the border into Tortall, like some sort of horrific zombie. She attacked new Giantkiller because she had known that it was my base; the place was burning when I got there. I got her. I killed her myself, and been guilty ever after. She called that she was scared as she died." Jack looked down regretfully at Ianto's hair. "So, yes, Olive. They were made from children. Lucky for everyone involved, Blayce is dead."

"And you have Tortall to come home to," whispered Kathy from the other side of the partition. Ianto swallowed at the affection in the girl's tone.

Jack sagged, gathering Ianto close and looking at the partition, as though he could see the girls through it. "Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah. Tortall's safe, now."

"Then a job well done," mumbled Dan, half asleep. "Then our captains saved the realm at great personal cost."

"And put a little girl to rest," murmured Tina. "You're still a hero. You're both still heroes."

"Best heroes there ever were," Silvia sighed. Liam of Whitehorn's snore almost covered her words, but the Captains could hear them well enough.

"Th'nks f'r th'story," Gil slurred into his pillow.

Jack rested a cheek on Ianto's hair, watching the drifting children with awed eyes. "You're welcome," he muttered. Ianto was silent, staring at the children, flabbergasted at their calm acceptance.

_But it was my fault, _he thought. _Blayce got the idea for Lily from my memories of Cybermen. _

Robert of High Peak, on the top bunk, caught his eye. The cadet smiled drowsily, full of trust and—and love. Ianto stared, shocked.

The bitterness, the guilt, the hurt in Ianto's heart dissolved in the face of that love. The affection and acceptance in that boy's eyes was like balm to a wound.

Ianto stared, breathless, as the cadets drifted off to sleep. Jack clutched him tightly, equally shocked.

"We—we should go to bed," Jack whispered after a moment. Ianto nodded against his neck, still staring at Rob, who was now fast asleep. Neither moved.

"They're—" Ianto started to say, but found no words. These children—this group of eight teenagers, barely teenagers, in fact—had just absolved them. These brilliant children, to whom they had just told a horrific story that ended in the creation of a monster from a child, Ianto's failure to save her and Jack's murder of her, had simply forgiven them. Both of them, all at once.

"Incredible," Jack finished for him softly. His heart pounded beneath Ianto's hand. "Absolutely incredible."

Yeah, Ianto thought, pressing closer to Jack and looking at his sleeping charges with wide eyes. That was a good word. Somewhere in his heart, a two year long knot of guilt eased.

Incredible. They were incredible.


	29. The Academy

**The Academy**

"This is a bad idea," Jack muttered, pacing anxiously.

Ianto leaned on the podium and watched him pace the length of the stage, back and forth. "It'll be alright, Jack," he assured his frantic lover.

They were standing in the House of Commons, a half hour early. Ianto had booked the room for the Open House of the air force, where they would offer fifty spaces to cadets under twenty to start the Academy.

But Jack did have a point, Ianto thought to himself. Ianto wasn't the greatest with kids, and Jack had a longstanding phobia of children since the death of his grandson, Steven. Maybe this _was_ a bad idea.

He sighed. Two people were not enough to be an entire air force, he thought derisively. They'd been stretched so thin during the Scanran War. Jack had run himself ragged, and Ianto had been captured and stolen away to Scanra, where Jack could not reach him. Those awful weeks still haunted his dreams.

Toward the end of the war, or rather the end of their involvement with the war, Alanna had somehow cornered Jack and convinced him that they needed to bulk up their air force, and that meant taking cadets. It would be a relief, but in the mean time it meant more stress.

"Alright? Alright? Ianto, it's Lily all over again!" Jack hissed, still pacing.

Ianto swallowed, heart tugging at the mention of the little girl he'd taken under his wing at Haven. It was a low blow from Jack. She'd been kidnapped by the Scanrans, and Blayce had experimented on her, trying to create… well, the Hag only knew what he was trying to do. Ianto had found her, half-converted and horrible; Jack had killed her because Ianto had been unable, frozen and terrified, never mind that he didn't have a dyne. Both of their nightmares for weeks after had been horrific; Lily was another child to add to Jack's frighteningly long list, and she bore such resemblance to Lisa that Ianto sometimes woke sweating and gasping, sure that Cybermen were coming to kill them all.

"It won't be like Lily," Ianto assured him quietly, and prayed to the Hag that he wasn't lying. "Lily was an orphan in a warzone, Jack. These will be students—cadets. Alanna's right; we'll be teaching them to fight."

"So they can fall from the sky in a ball of flame?" Jack spat bitterly, but Ianto heard the fear in his voice.

"I haven't done that yet," Ianto reminded him. Jack took in a sharp breath and rushed over, crouching beside Ianto and pressing close.

"That was what Alanna said," he mumbled into Ianto's shoulder. "But the possibility—" he shook.

"Hush," Ianto murmured, and pressed a kiss to the top of Jack's head. "In case you've forgotten, I'm a very good pilot. I was taught by the best, remember? And they will be, too." He gestured to the empty seats. "It's going to be alright, Jack. You'll see."

Jack squeezed his eyes shut and didn't say anything. Ianto stroked the back of his neck. "I promise," he added and Jack was so close Ianto felt him swallow. Someone pounded on the door to the auditorium and Jack exhaled slowly. His warm breath whispered across Ianto's neck.

"Showtime," Jack muttered reluctantly, and stood up. Ianto stood with him and straightened Jack's coat, which had been rumpled. He smoothed a hand down the rising phoenix embroidered in the right lapel.

"It's going to be fine," he said again, and kissed him. Jack leaned heavily into him, murmuring something against his lips, but Ianto pulled back before it got out of hand. There were people outside, and when Jack kissed him like that for too long, well, they might never let anyone in after all. "I'll get the door," Ianto whispered and then turned to do so.

"You—you know that I love you, right?" Jack said, almost too softly to hear. Ianto looked back and smiled. The words were rare and they never failed to curl warmth in his stomach.

"You _have_ told me before," he teased gently. "But yes, Jack. I love you too. May I open the doors, now?"

Jack nodded, face lighting in a beaming, welcoming grin that was not entirely faked. "Showtime," he said again, with a little more enthusiasm.

.

* * *

.

Dan Markam grinned to himself from where he leaned on the far wall.

The room was huge, one of those rooms used by the House of Lords or Commons or whatever, and the Captains far down below were likely annoying quite a lot of people by using it as an auditorium. Dan closed his eyes briefly and listened to the voices of the two men rise and fall below, appreciating the acoustics of the place for a moment. Captain Harkness was speaking about cadets and brilliance and aerodynes and Dan smiled to himself.

Really, this was a great way to throw off his brothers. Dan's favorite past time was confusing people, and this one sort of took the cake.

Captain Jack Harkness was a man of honor, he remembered that. The Captain of the Gwen Cooper Mark I had made a huge deal out of it, and if Dan was quite honest, he was a little worried about meeting him. Well, meeting him for real, anyway.

Dan's father was a Player in a traveling show, and Dan had grown up on tall tales and fantastical, theatrical stories. The troop sometimes whispered that Dan's father was mad, but Dan saw the act for what it was. He'd approved wholeheartedly of Dan's decision, if his delighted laughter was anything to go by, and it was. Dan had his father's blessing, although that didn't mean much.

Captain Harkness had landed in Blue Harbor during the Scanran War, where Dan's father's company was hiding out, performing plays to ease the terror of a country at war. The Gwen Cooper Mark I had made a huge amount of noise, Dan remembered, howling as she landed, and when Captain Harkness had hopped out of the cockpit with a grin, Dan had seen stars. The gloomy future as an actor had disappeared like one of his father's illusions.

Dan wanted to fly. It had been three years ago – Dan had been barely seven – but he'd known, right there in his twisted, insane heart, that he'd wanted to fly.

So here he was, at the information session of the air force, when they were opening their division to the public, offering to train new people. Dan was watching the man who was secretly his hero and the man who was not-so-secretly Captain Harkness's lover speak about physics, and work, and excellence.

Dan was smart. He knew he was smart. He could out-smart the smartest of the company at home; he made a game of talking people in circles. He'd learned his letters faster than the other boys, and at eight he'd managed to calculate his father's profits and make several improvements. He learned scripts so quickly that the actors of his father's troop were convinced that he was some sort of devil's child. Even at ten, he spoke grandly, using vocabulary he'd learned from his father's plays, vocabulary that even educated nobles' children of his age did not know. Mostly, he did it to see the looks on the adults' faces. It was fun when they stared at him as though he had two heads.

Captain Jones asked for more questions. Dan stayed in his seat and asked, projecting his voice as he'd been taught by the traveling show, "What's the price of this endeavor?"

"Forever debt to the air force!" Captain Harkness shot back with a devilish grin. Dan's face split in a responding smile. Nay, he positively _beamed_ at the Captain.

The good Captain had read the mockery in his voice. He'd joked. At home, no one but his father ever joked. But here-_Captain Harkness had replied in kind. _

He was Dan's damn hero, and when Captain Jones amended that the price could either be paid before or after training, Dan didn't care.


	30. Expanding the Air Force

Okay, this short story is finished, and I want to get it up before I start the heavy duty stuff on Guardian and Spaces. I just noticed a massive, massive grammar mistake that runs throughout. Eep! Tales is going to be on hold for a while, so I can fix it.

Um, and if you guys notice any mistakes? Please don't hesitate to tell me. Really, I do appreciate it. For me writing is a dearly loved hobby; my primary major is Bio, for crying out loud (my other one is Latin, but still), and so there isn't much time for writing classes. Any way I can improve and keep my prose at least presentable is beneficial.

Anyway, enjoy this chapter. This story jumps back a bit. It's about how Alanna convinces Jack to take cadets in the first place, and it's referenced in 'The Academy.' Enjoy!

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**Expanding the Air Force **

Jack scowled.

They were standing in his rooms in Fort Mastiff, where Alanna had followed him in a huff. He'd tried to lose her after the meeting with Raoul, Kel and the others, but she was determined; really, he should know better by now. The Scanran War was nearing its end with Tortall, luckily, the victor. Nevertheless, Jack knew what Alanna wanted from him and it was not something he had any desire to discuss.

"Alanna," he protested, but the Lioness held up a hand.

"Jack, two people can't be an entire division of the forces by themselves," she scolded and Jack made a face. He knew she was going to say that, and by the damned Graveyard Hag he really didn't want to hear it.

She was standing in the threshold of his rooms, having just pushed open the door. The light from the setting sun picked out the gold in her flaming red hair, and dust motes winked cheerfully around her.

Jack himself had stalked to the window, sending the dust whirling through the air, winking and twinkling. "We got through a war, didn't we?" he demanded, pivoting on his heel to look at her harshly.

"Barely," she shot back. She closed the door with her foot and crossed her arms, immovable. Damn. There really was no getting rid of her. "You ran yourself ragged and Ianto lost a dyne. Jack, you have to start training others. I know you've talked about this with Ianto—"

"Did I tell you what happened to Lily?" Jack bit, crossing his arms as well. His eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape that was not there. Ianto had lost more than just his dyne. "She got captured by that bastard. They made her into a monster and I killed her. _I _killed her, Alanna." For every gift Tortall granted, it took something away, Jack thought grimly. It was better than Earth had been—Earth had given far fewer gifts than Tortall, and taken away much more—but even this place was brutal. Ianto had been thoroughly traumatized by Blayce the Childkiller; Jack had been reluctant to leave him, but duty was duty, in the end, and even if Ianto was out of commission, it didn't mean that Jack could stop fighting. The brutality of this world was a lesson well learned after this war. "It's too dangerous. I won't have anyone else involved." And that was final, Jack thought furiously. Somewhere in his gut, fear sat like a block of ice.

"It wasn't your fault, Jack," Alanna replied softly, reaching to place a hand on his arm. Jack shied back in a way he hadn't done since she'd first met him. He didn't want the comfort she offered. As far as he was concerned, he didn't deserve it.

Jack shook his head. "I don't care," he said stubbornly.

"Well you should!" Alanna huffed. She uncrossed her arms and gestured as she spoke. "You're always like that," she added, frustrated. "Every time, Jack, you close right off. You'll be teaching them to defend themselves—"

"So they can fall from the sky in a ball of flame?" Jack spat, shying back as though her words had been physical threats. Alanna was sometimes too perceptive for his liking. "I don't think so, Alanna."

"Ianto's—" she started, but her voice faded when Jack went dead white.

"Please don't tell me I've put Ianto in danger," he said wretchedly. The fear and guilt in his gut started to send cold tendrils up to his heart. Ianto had been hurt enough in this ridiculous war. His horror-struck eyes haunted Jack's dreams-he'd almost died, he'd almost gone mad, and Jack had been helpless, unable to cross the border, unable to help. To lose him a second time would break something in Jack that probably couldn't be fixed. Tortall had healed Jack before he'd gotten Ianto back, it was true, but this stability had made all the difference. Ianto had promised him five hundred years, and Jack planned on holding him to his word. If Jack lost him now - he didn't know what he'd do. "I already know."

"I know it hurts, Jack," Alanna murmured softly after a moment and this time he did let her touch his arm. Jack realized too late that he shouldn't have; the contact hurt his heart, even if Alanna did not mean it to pain him. "But you can't let that paralyze you. Lily—that was the little girl at Haven, right?"

Jack sighed and dropped his eyes. "She sort of adopted Ianto," he muttered regretfully. "She wanted to fly and wouldn't be turned away. Ianto was teaching her how to work the engine in his dyne…. She got captured and that bastard experimented on her. She called my name when I killed her." The memory rose in his mind's eye —the Gwen's screaming engines, the heat from the flamethrowers, the lever to release the throwing star—the metallic screech as it sliced into the metal of her awful, patched head. The white mist and red blood that had streamed out of the wound, _Captain Harkness, I'm scared!_

"Alanna," he added quietly. "Alanna, it's always kids." Jack swallowed, the truth of the statement threatening to overwhelm him. In his mind, Steven's distant scream harmonized with Lily's call. "When things go wrong for me, kids always get hurt. I don't know why, but it's always kids. I can't—I can't do that anymore," he ended on a whisper. "I really can't."

"Jack, Lily wasn't your fault," Alanna tried to comfort him. Jack suppressed hysterical laughter.

"Steven was," he snarled at the ground. "And Jasmine, and Gray and even Alice, and Clem and the twelve kids I gave to that monster, and Jamie." His voice cracked. Memories, memories, memories. Alanna had sliced opened a scar, and the self loathing poured out like blood. "That's not even mentioning the names I _don't_ know."

"Jack I don't know who those people are," Alanna told him softly.

"Steven was my grandson," he sighed wretchedly.

Alanna's eyes widened, as though a light had gone off somewhere in her head. "Torchwood," she murmured, voice hushed. "He died while you worked for Torchwood. That's why you were so afraid of Kitten when we met you, why you don't like kids. You blame yourself for your grandson's death. Oh, Jack—"

Jack glared at her, suddenly hating her sympathy. "_I_ killed him, so don't go telling me it wasn't my fault," he growled, crossing his arms defensively. "I watched him scream and bleed and die and held the lever down. I don't care about the lives it saved, the many over the few—he was still my grandson." He took a shaky breath. It was the first time he'd said it aloud without Ianto's arms around him, without comfort readily available. Even after eight years, the memory burned and stung. He'd healed enough to speak about it, but that was all. Somewhere, the wound still festered.

Alanna stared at him in horror, words stolen away.

Last time, Jack thought weakly, Ianto had been there. Jack had been panicking, having just learned about those Scanran monsters, and Ianto had told half the story when it had spilled over to Daine and Numair. Ianto had defended him the whole way, and by the end Daine had held his hand and Numair had called him a hero. This time, Jack was alone and reasonably calm, and the wounds had healed enough for him to say the words. Alanna's expression was oddly soothing; there was no sympathy there, only the condemnation that Jack deserved.

"So please don't tell me to train cadets," he finished brokenly. "Because I really, really don't want children near me; that's one less blood sacrifice the damn universe can demand."

Alanna's hand slipped off his arm. "I think," she said slowly, walking over to Jack's couch and sitting on it, as though numb from shock. "That you need to tell me the whole story, Jack."

Jack barked a bitter laugh. In that instant, Alanna's red hair turned black in his mind's eye, her purple eyes dark; she grew about four inches and her teeth widened so there was a very visible gap.

When he looked at her, for a moment he saw nothing but Gwen Cooper, the namesake of his aerodyne.

But that didn't mean he wanted to tell the story. "It isn't a good story," he said darkly, turning away. "It ends with my daughter's hatred and a lot of deaths."

"One of which was your own," Alanna said matter-of-factly.

Jack snorted. "I can't die," he replied flatly. "If you want to count _my_ deaths, I must've died four times that week. No. Those were people who actually could die, and those were only the ones I knew personally." He sighed. "There were more. There's always more."

Okay, he may have healed enough to say Steven's name, but this really was not a story he wanted to be telling. Jack suddenly wished that Ianto were here, but of course he wasn't. He was in Corus, taking time off and rebuilding the Tosh. Jack was stuck at Mastiff with Alanna.

Figured.

And damn Alanna anyway, Jack thought wryly. They were going to sit here in silence until she wrung the story from him like water from a rag. But he trusted her, more than he should, and her honest, painful response was - oddly compelling. The silence pulled the words from him more effectively than any torture.

"They were aliens," Jack told the wall flatly. "They wanted ten percent of the children of Earth. I stopped them."

"And your grandson died in the process," Alanna supplied softly.

Jack scowled at the wall. He still could not face Alanna. _Coward, _he accused himself viciously. "No. _Ianto_ died in the process. I killed my grandson to stop them."

"Stop—stop saying that, please," Alanna said, voice rough. Hardened knight with a soft heart, Jack thought with distant affection."How did killing him help get rid of the aliens?"

Jack closed his eyes. "It was to transmit a signal," he said quietly, trying to stop the tremors that raced through his body. This was a hard story to tell. "We were pressed on time; the aliens were taking the kids—ten percent of the kids on the whole planet. They were all loaded up in busses and going to the exchange point. But I could use Steven to transmit a signal that could kill the alien and free the kids. It worked. Steven died."

"And your daughter?" Alanna asked.

"I've never seen so much hatred," Jack whispered thickly. The sight of Alice's eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life. He supposed that meant it would haunt him for eternity, but the thought made him ill.

"With good reason," Alanna said softly and he could hear the creak as she got off the couch. "I would have hated you, too."

"You're not the only one," Jack muttered, and twitched when her hand touched his shoulder.

"That was murder," Alanna told him, voice matter-of-fact.

Jack let out a harsh breath like a sob. He'd been expecting the blow, but it still hurt like hell. "The needs of the many," he spat, hating himself. Alanna squeezed his shoulder, and her disagreement with his statement did not need to be said aloud.

"How did Ianto die?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"That _thing_ locked down the building," Jack said thickly. "It released a—a disease. Ianto and I were inside. He died in my arms."

"And," the Lioness said, gripping his shoulder tightly. "He came back to you."

Jack swallowed and turned his head to look down at her at last. Her purple eyes were serious, thoughtful, and they contained surprising strength. "Yeah," he rasped.

"Does he know? About Steven?"

Jack nodded.

"And he forgave you?" she asked. Jack closed his eyes and didn't respond, ashamed. Alanna shook his shoulder. "I need to know, Jack," she said, her own voice breaking. "If I'm ever going to come to terms with this, with you, I need to know. Did he forgive you?"

Jack's breath came out harshly. "Come to terms with it?" he asked, shocked.

"What, you think I'm going to run to the hills after being your friend for the past eight years? Please. I might feel the need to kill you once or twice, but I'm restraining myself." She looked at him with hard violet eyes. "You haven't answered my question."

Jack nodded, feeling a little stunned. "Yeah," he whispered. "He forgave me."

"Why?" she answered furiously and then spun away, pacing. "How? Jack, your own grandson!"

Jack choked. "I don't know," he breathed. "I don't deserve it."

Alanna stopped pacing and glared at him. "No," she agreed. "You certainly don't."

There was a silence. Jack's eyes hurt, and his heart clenched. He looked at the floor and shivered in the cold of Fort Mastiff in winter.

He wanted Ianto.

"But," Alanna said slowly, and he glanced up at her. "I think I'm going to forgive you anyway."

"Don't," Jack whispered, eyes on wall behind her.

"It'll take a while," she warned him. "A long while. But I will."

Jack shook his head. "You shouldn't," he whispered to the wall.

"You're my friend, you idiot," she snapped. "I remember how you were when I first met you. I remember how you looked at _my_ kids."

Jack finally looked at her, surprised.

"Like you'd seen a ghost," she continued, voice gentling, "Or worse. You couldn't stop looking at them, although you tried. I _remember_, Jack. You kept inching away, like you were afraid of them, or afraid of yourself. And Kit climbed all over you—you looked like you were going to have a heart attack, and you were, weren't you?" Her lips quirked into a faint smile. "Another sacrifice, more blood for your hands."

Jack nodded wordlessly. Tears pricked his eyes. She read him too well, sometimes. It was eerie, but on some level it was reassuring.

"So fix it, Jack Harkness," Alanna told him suddenly. Jack stared at her. "Captain of the Tortallan Air Force," she taunted, stepping closer, and he had never known Alanna to be cruel before.

"You think I didn't try?" Jack managed, taking a cowed step back. Alanna, catching him in a moment of vulnerability, was able to back him up against a wall and poke his chest with an accusing finger.

"Try harder," she growled. "You can't bring your grandson back; you can't get your daughter to forgive you, and that's awful in every sense of the world. You know what? You deserve it. But you can make a difference _here_. You can save a child _here_. That won't fix it, but it'll make it better." She took a step back and regarded him. "And it might fix _you_."

Jack shook his head frantically. "No more kids—Alanna—"

"Don't let anything happen to them," she told him fiercely. "Break the curse, Captain. Kids get hurt, kids die—especially in this war. So protect them. Teach them to protect themselves and keep them safe. That's your penitence. No more children are allowed to die from your actions, is that clear?"

Jack stared at her and then nodded. "Crystal," he whispered.

"Good." Alanna took a breath. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go cry for an hour." She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. Jack stared after her and panted, feeling shocked and winded and as though he had run ten miles.

Crying sounded good, he thought weakly and collapsed onto the couch. He buried his face into his hands.

Cadets, he thought with dread. They were going to have to take on cadets.


	31. Pranks

**Pranks**

Liam of Whitehorn was the biggest pain in the ass this side of the Milky Way, Jack thought to himself.

"If you do not control your cadets, I will have your program _cut_!" seethed yet another pissed off noble and Jack suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. The man was standing on the other side of Jack's desk, covered head to foot in flour and feathers. His eyes blazed, and every time he gesticulated the white powder puffed off his arms and drifted slowly to the floor like snow. It did nothing for his dignity, frankly, and Jack was having trouble not laughing.

Liam was a boy after Jack's own heart, it was true – he was the finest prankster Jack had seen in a long time, but honestly, this was ridiculous.

"I assure you," Jack replied gravely. "Master Whitehorn will be disciplined harshly." The noble huffed and spun on his heel. His outer robe billowed as he turned, and the puff of flour that rose was impressive. Feathers, disturbed, drifted to the ground as he left, trailing flour in his wake. His shoes squelched and left unpleasant footprints on the clean stone floor of Jack's office. When the door snicked shut, a small, white-dusted face peered out from under Jack's desk.

"Is he gone?" the cadet asked in an exaggerated whisper. Jack looked down and this time he really did roll his eyes.

Liam's dark hair was dusted with flour, and there was a splotch on his nose. His fine, new cadet's uniform was absolutely covered in the white powder, and as Jack watched the boy sneezed. White dust liberally sprinkled Jack's shoes.

"I'm supposed to punish you, you know," Jack told him dryly. He pushed out his chair to regard the boy.

Liam was sitting cross legged under Jack's desk. Frankly, he looked like a cross between a scarecrow and a snowman, covered in flour, straw, and feathers. The boy had burst into Jack's office an hour ago and dove under the desk, much to Jack's surprise. Jack had been ready to ask him what the hell was going on, when the flour-covered noble had slammed the door open on Liam's heels, furious. At that point Jack was invested and he'd defended the boy as best he could. The Academy was rough, it was true, but the air force protected its own. Besides, he liked Liam. Mostly.

"He deserved it!" the boy protested with a smug grin. "Walking around with that great big strut of his, thinking he's better than all of us. Besides," he insisted loyally. "He called Captain Jones a poof."

"He did what now?" Jack asked, reaching down to take the boy's hand and pull him out from under the desk. White flour drifted in Liam's wake.

He was a thin boy, weedy, with dark hair and bright eyes and a wicked sense of humor. Liam was a brilliant student, or he would be when he actually put his mind to it. So early into the program, he was breezing by, which was something that Jack liked to see. Liam understood and digested new concepts remarkably quickly, and he actually seemed bored in class. His homework, when he remembered to turn it in, was disorganized, messy, and rivaled Dan Markham and Robert of High Peak's in brilliance.

"He was saying bad things about you and Captain Jones," Liam said seriously as he stood. "So I covered him in flour and feathers." He stuck out his flour-coated chin and crossed his arms. "And now he's going to have a white bottom, and every time he sits down people will know where he sat because of the white butt-mark he left there!" the boy finished triumphantly.

Jack resisted the urge to laugh and bury his face in his hands. He was mostly failing.

"Look, I'm not going to tell you not to prank people," he started.

"And this is why I love you," Liam said brightly. "In a not-creepy way, of course," he added derisively.

"Obviously," Jack remarked dryly. "Anyway, try to keep the pranks to people your own age? And for god's sake, learn some subtlety! At least make it hard for people to trace it back to you."

"It was very hard to trace this one back to me," Liam said with all the innocence of the very, very guilty.

"Yeah. The footprints weren't obvious at all," Jack replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, that was a dead giveaway, wasn't it?" Liam sighed. He uncrossed his arms and his shoulders slumped.

"Kind of," Jack told him, amused.

"Right, then, sir!" Liam saluted, clicking his heels together smartly. The effect was somewhat ruined by the flour. "I shall endeavor to keep my pranks to a minimum! Or at least make them not so obvious."

Jack regarded the cadet. It was a good salute, despite the flour. Liam was a noble; his father must have taught him proper form. Jack and Ianto hadn't gone over that yet in class. "You're also going to scrub out the boy's privy," Jack added.

"What!" Liam fell out of his salute. "Why?"

"Because you got caught," Jack said reasonably.

"At least make it the girl's privy!" Liam whined. "Make it interesting."

"Out, Whitehorn," Jack said, pointing to the door.

"But—"

"Out. I want to see that privy as clean as King Jon's sword." The assumption, of course, was that King Jon _had _a clean sword. Jack wondered briefly.

Liam seemed to read his mind. "Do you mean his _actual_ sword, or his _other _swor_—_"

"Both! Out!"

"Can I clean the girls' and the boys'? At least then there's some reward involved."

"Get out of my damn office!" Jack laughed and the cadet scurried away.

"I'm going to beat that boy one day," Jack muttered to himself and, grinning, knelt to clean the flour from under his desk.


	32. Little Boy Lost

Yay fast updates! I have a bunch of cadet stories to catch up on :) This particular one's dedicated to anyone and everyone who has worked through a learning disability. Once upon a time, I was diagnosed with dyslexia... but with a LOT of tutoring and hard work, I learned to read and write with the best of them. But I remember - it's just so frustrating to be smart, to _know_ you're smart, but be so far behind the rest of the class. This little story's about how important it is to never, ever give up.

Also: this story is referenced in "Switch." See, they all connect somehow :P

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**Little Boy Lost**

It was late.

That was the first thing that struck through Ianto's head like a flash of lightning when he heard the timid knock on the door. It was late, he was tired, he'd finished grading the cadets' latest homework and Jack's arms were warm. He really, really wanted to sleep.

_Taptaptap. _

A sound like a sniffle.

"Oh, can't ignore that," Jack whispered into Ianto's hair, and Ianto sighed.

"No," he muttered, and heaved himself out of bed.

Since they were technically in Ianto's section of their adjoined rooms, Jack stayed in bed, but he sat up to watch Ianto put on a pair of breeches and throw a robe around his shoulders. Ianto strode out into the living space. The single candle in the room, used for marking time, cast flickering shadows on the desk and Rikash was snoring softly from his balcony. The night was so quiet that he could hear the soft whimper on the other side of the door, and a squeaking, rubbing sound, like a small body leaning against wood and then slipping down to sit at its foot. Ianto walked over to the entrance that led to the hallway and opened the door.

There was a choked yelp and a small, sniffing cadet fell through. "Cap-Captain Jones!" he gasped. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't think—you must be tired—I—I—sorry, sorry—" he was stuttering and shaking. Shadows stretched under his watering eyes, and his face looked red and blotchy from stressful tears.

Of course, Ianto knew all of the cadets by name now. This one, by the name of Gillham Smithy, was common-born and smaller than the other students, and when he'd arrived he'd had a narrow face and protruding bones as though malnourished. Now he was plumper, but he still looked too thin, and the bags under his eyes were telling.

"Easy, Gillham," Ianto murmured, and crouched to help him up.

The boy sniffled.

It had been five weeks into the program, and the students had dropped like flies. Fifty had become twenty, and, by the look of this one, it looked like twenty would become nineteen. Jack and Ianto had not been exaggerating during the information session when they had warned that the work the first two years was extensive; they wanted to weed out as many people as possible. Cadets were not pages – they wanted brains as well as brawn, and it would take more than blind determination to make a pilot.

"Are you alright?" Ianto asked quietly, picking the boy up by the wrist and leading him to the couch in the middle of the living room. "It's—" he checked the candle, burning low on the desk. "It's four in the morning." He sat the boy down.

Gillham bit his lip. "I—" he took a breath, and then his face crumbled. "I can't do it!" he blurted. "How can you expect us to do so much? I can't do it all!"

Ianto sighed. He sat down beside the boy and opened his mouth to start the speech he'd given to many of the others who had dropped out – it wasn't that they were stupid, it was that training just wasn't for them, and they had to find something else, something more suitable.

It was a good speech. It was kind and short and it spared egos. But Gillham interrupted.

"You—you don't understand, I _can_ do it," he said fiercely. "I have to do it; I know I can. I'm _smart_," he hissed. "I'm smarter than half these people. There's just so much t-t-to _do_!" The last was a wail, and now tears leaked in earnest down the boy's cheeks.

"Hey," Ianto murmured, feeling a little guilty as he reached to offer the boy a handkerchief. "Hey, c'mon now. I know it's a lot."

Gillham refused the handkerchief, wiping his eyes with his wrist. "Then w-why d'you give us so much?" he demanded, looking angry and hopeless and sad. Ianto swallowed his guilt.

"I don't like the grading anymore than you like the work," he said wryly. "But if you want to be able to start building in four years and be done in six, you have to get this stuff done now."

The boy sniffled. "But what do coordinate planes have anything do to with flying?" he demanded, on the verge of hysteria. "I can't do this much, Captain, I just can't." He hiccoughed, looking stressed and over tired.

"You haven't finished yet, have you?" Ianto asked gently, and the boy shook his head.

"T-t-too much," he whimpered. "I still hav-have to do the wood problem, and the three axes, and-and-and figure out those v-vectors—"

From the other side of the room, Ianto's bedroom door creaked. "You can't read, can you?" Jack's voice interrupted, and Ianto almost jumped out of his skin in surprise.

Jack was standing in the threshold of the bedroom, but he was fully dressed and his hair combed, not mussed from sleep. Gillham's eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed.

"Me mam taught me my letters, sir," he said nervously. The boy swiped impatiently at the tears on his cheeks.

"But not well," Jack murmured, walking over. "You really shouldn't be up _this_ late, Gil."

The boy's face crumpled. "S-she taught me b-best she could!" he managed. "I can read, I _can_, don't toss me out _please,_ Cap'n Harkness, I can't go back there, I can't—"

"No one's tossing you anywhere," Ianto said firmly. "Look at me. Gillham. Gil. Look at me."

He met the tearful hazel eyes. "We are not throwing you anywhere," he told the boy slowly and firmly. "You hear? We will teach you to read."

"I hav-en-en't g-got t-time!" the boy wailed, burying his face in his hands. "All m'free time's in w-work, ev'n d-dinner an', an' lunch, I f-feel like I haven't seen the sun in d-days, _days, _s'like b-back at h-home and I _hate_ it—"

"Easy," Jack murmured. He sat down on Gil's other side and put a hand on his shoulder. "Listen. Go to lunch."

The boy gave a stressed, wide eyed sniffle.

"What's tomorrow, Friday?" Jack asked. Ianto nodded. "Listen," Jack told Gil. "Take tomorrow off—no—" he held up a hand at the boy's hysterical stare. "Take tomorrow off. You're going to sleep in as much as you can. You're not going to do anything till after one in the afternoon, and then you're gonna catch up on the stuff that was due today. After you finish that, you're going to take the rest of the day off, and then the night. You will socialize with your friends, clear?"

Gil sniffled. "Yes sir."

"And then, on Saturday, you are going to knock on my door, and I'm going help you with something called time management. You are not going home, you hear? Not if it's that bad." Jack's voice brooked no argument, and Gillham nodded slowly.

"Thank you, sir," he whispered softly. "What—what about everyone else?"

"You have a headcold," Ianto put in dryly. "Hacking all over the place. Disgusting. You can't leave your bed."

The boy giggled wetly.

"May we go to sleep now?" Ianto asked him gently, smiling a little at Gil's exhausted amusement. "You're going to sleep, too, remember. No work until an hour after the noon bell tomorrow."

Gil swallowed. "Yes, sir," he whispered, looking embarrassed. "S-sorry to wake you." He rose to leave, bare feet shuffling across the rug in Ianto's room. Ianto wondered abstractly if the boy was cold - had he really walked the stone corridors of the castle without shoes, or at least socks?

"Gil," Jack called before he reached the door. The boy turned. "Where is home?"

Gil stiffened and his face hardened. "Coldspeak mines, sir."

Jack's eyebrows rose. "The penal colony?" he asked, his voice neutral.

Gil swallowed. "M'parents," he said flatly, but there was a glimmer of desperation in his eyes. "Both convicted." He shifted his feet and didn't name their crimes.

"You're required by law to tell us," Ianto said softly, remembering a passage he'd read somewhere. Gil bit his lip and shifted his feet again, all wide hazel eyes and fluffy brown hair, looking very young and very scared.

"Thank you," Ianto said lowly. "Thank you for trusting us." Just because the law said to do something didn't mean that people did it. This boy was placing a great deal of trust in them; by law, now that they knew his heritage, they really could throw him out.

Gil chewed his lip and nodded. He hesitated.

"You're staying," Jack told him flatly. "Now go to bed."

Gil sucked in a breath and nodded again. "T-thank you," he whispered, and bolted.

The door clicked closed.

"I'm lessening the assignments," Ianto said flatly as soon as Gil's slapping, bare-footed steps faded down the hall. "That boy's not going back there."

"Ianto—" Jack started, pained.

"_He's not going back there_," Ianto growled. "Mines are no place for children." Especially not for his cadets, Ianto thought protectively somewhere in the back of his mind. When Gil had become one of _his _cadets was unclear - so far the only two on his list of favorites were Kathy Merensdatter and Dan Markham, by association. He also felt a sort of affinity for Rob of High Peak although the young noble appeared to be painfully shy and had never actually spoken with him. Of course, Ianto wasn't supposed to have favorites, but one could hardly help oneself. Still, after tonight, after that desperate, needy trust in Gil's eyes, the boy had won his place in Ianto's heart.

"Ianto," Jack murmured, sliding an arm around Ianto's shoulders.

"He's not," Ianto muttered, resting his head in the crook of Jack's neck tiredly. "We'll help."

"We'll help," Jack conceded with a sigh. "I'm not lessening the work load – twenty's still too big. They're still too lazy. But we'll help."

"Lazy! Jack—"

"Not Gil," Jack assured him. "I like Gil. I've liked Gil from the beginning, you know that-the kid's smart, and now that we know what's wrong we can fix it. Some of the others. Malorie of Goldenlake, Joseph of Tirragan, although his sister's alright. Ralph Slater. The work stays. But maybe we'll end class earlier, give them a longer lunch, more breaks. How does that sound?"

Ianto yawned. "Like a compromise," he sighed, and Jack squeezed his shoulders.

"Good. Can we go back to bed now?" Jack asked plaintively and Ianto smiled.


	33. Sticks and Stones

Whoops, sorry about that, guys. I posted this chapter yesterday afternoon, and then went back to it and found all sorts of errors! So... I deleted it and fixed it. Here it is again, with a bit more description and, hopefully, no typos.

* * *

**Sticks and Stones**

Tina Mills stepped out of the kitchens, wearing her finest cadet uniform, all red and green and black, the colors of the air force. She wanted to twirl, to laugh and sing. She never thought serving would be so much _fun. _

The Midwinter ball was in full swing, the ballroom decorated with brightly colored baubles that shone against the marble of the splendid room. The chandeliers were crystal and hung down from the high, arching ceiling, and the columns were wrapped in festive garlands. The nobles all wore their finest - beautiful silks of every color, evenly dyed and whispering against the marble floor as they moved. The wooden dance floor sat in the middle of it all, surrounded by the round, large tables covered in white and gold tablecloths. _  
_

Tina had never seen so much splendor in one place. She was the daughter of a sailor, and as such had grown up on the docks in various ports - all of them slightly slimy and damp. She felt almost out of place in the ballroom with the finely dressed, elegant nobles, but in reality she was too busy marveling at how utterly beautiful everything was to feel insecure. It was a sight to behold, like something from a dream. Besides, she too was in her finest, never mind that it was a cadet's uniform and slightly unflattering. She was a server and she matched the other seven in her class; she fit in here, too.

She held her polished silver platter high and strode through the moving, brightly colored crowd to Master Salmalin's table, which she had been assigned to serve. Proud, delighted with her task, she slid her eyes to Captain Harkness, sitting at table six, next to her assigned table. He was her favorite of the two Captains, and to be honest she nursed a small crush on him.

Captain Harkness was dressed in his finest, just like everyone else. He wore his strange air-force coat over a scarlet surcote, which looked a little odd, but he carried himself proudly and so it didn't quite matter. Tina thought he looked just as splendid as everyone else in the room, at any rate. He was separated from Captain Jones, which was strange, but he didn't seem to mind. Captain Harkness was laughing with a beautiful lady in blue, whose long, elegant sleeves never seemed to drag or get in the way. His eyes sparkled as Tina watched, his grin was bright, and he was raising a gemstone studded goblet to his lips.

Wait. Tina froze, gripping her serving platter, eyes zeroing in on the goblet. That was not the goblet he'd had before. In fact, she recognized that goblet...

Tina nearly dropped her tray. "_Captain Harkness, look out!_" she shouted. To her relief, the Captain froze. He caught her eye as Tina rushed over, and put the goblet down on the table.

"Tina?" he asked, confused. The lady in blue next to him tittered disapprovingly.

Tina could barely breathe for fear. "It's poisoned," she gasped, rushing up to his table and staring at him with wide, desperate eyes. He had no reason to believe her, but it was true, she'd seen it in the kitchens; someone had added something to that goblet. She'd mentioned it to a cook but he'd disregarded her, because she was a commoner, never mind that she was a cadet. "It is, I know it is!"

"I beg your pardon?" demanded the lady, looking very beautiful in her fine dress and very affronted. Tina hunched a little, cowed by the noble's glare, but she stood her ground. Captain Jack rose to his feet and put a hand on her shoulder. Tina swallowed, skin tingling. She only hoped she was right.

"Tina," he said, voice low and soft. "What makes you think my drink was poisoned?"

Tina tried to think past the fact that her insides turned to goo when the good Captain looked at her intently. "I - um, there was someone. In the back." She nodded to the kitchen. "I saw them. Your goblet - it's got polished stones on it. Someone replaced it." Tina looked into his blue, blue eyes and silently begged him to believe her. She sagged with relief when he squeezed her shoulder.

"Captain, she is clearly causing you undue-" huffed the lady, still seated at the table, but Captain Harkness cut her off. His trust warmed Tina's insides.

"Tina, take the goblet to Sir Nealan to be tested, would you?" he asked, naming his favorite healer next to the Lioness, who was currently at Pirate's Swoop with her family. "And then -" he was interrupted by a loud gasp, and then a frantic voice on the other side of the room.

_"Captain Jones!" _Cadet Robert of High Peak, on the other side of the room, actually dropped a tray with a clatter that echoed around the suddenly silent hall. He rushed to the table where Captain Jones was coughing, face bright red, as a horrified Kathy Merensdatter hovered next to him. Tina sucked in a breath in alarm and chaos erupted; nobles stood and shouted for healers; the wildmage and Master Salmalin rushed to help. Court ladies swooned and men yelled and plates scraped.

Tina heard Captain Harkness swear and felt his gri on her shoulder tighten almost to the point of pain before he looked back at her. "My goblet," he barked. "Sir Nealan. Now, Tina!" And he bolted across the room.

Tina wasted no time. She lunged for the Captain's goblet, and then paused, looking around the room in horror.

Where _was_ Sir Nealan?

The ballroom, before so splendid, was now a seething, chaotic jumble - men and women dressed in their finest rushed about in a panic, crowding around the choking Captain. Sir Nealan was nowhere to be found. Tina looked back to Captain Harkness' table and found the lady he'd been sitting with had swooned, utterly unhelpfully. Tina swallowed, feeling overwhelmed.

"Tina!" Liam of Whitehorn, another cadet and her friend, shoved his way through the crowd. He was a slim boy, weedy, with a bright grin and an eye for explosions. Now his face was tense and worried, and he was visibly trying not to bite his lip. His uniform was, predictably, spotted with puffs of flour. "Duke Baird has Cap'n Jones for the time being, but we need an antidote. He said Sir Nealan's down at the infirmary; c'mon!" He grabbed her hand urgently and pulled, snapping her out of her shock.

Tina did not question; she raced to follow him and so did another pair of footsteps. Robert of High Peak forced his way through the crowd and matched them stride for stride, a determined look on his pinched face. Tina blinked at him in shock.

"I'm coming with you," the quiet boy said firmly. Liam didn't comment.

Rob of High Peak was a snob. Everyone knew that. Tina had tried talking to him once, because he seemed shy, but he'd dismissed her like wiping a bit of muck from his shoes. Mithros only knew why he was still in the program - he didn't seem to like anyone, not even Captain Harkness. She'd seen him rolling his eyes in class numerous times.

But apparently he cared for Captain Jones, Tina thought with surprise. "Right," she said, and led the two boys out of the crowd at a swift pace, careful not to spill a drop of Captain Harkness' drink.

She pushed open the ballroom doors dramatically, with the two boys hot on her heels. Liam took the lead, practically running down the twisting, confusing halls of the castle proper. Formal shoes were not made for running, but the cadets made due. He led them through passageways Tina had never known about before - Liam was a noble, after all, and had spent time when he was younger exploring, whereas Tina never had the chance. Now he led them at breakneck speed toward the infirmary.

They made it there in record time, and to Tina's surprise it was quiet, dignified Rob who pounded frantically on the door. "Sir Nealan!" he bellowed.

Sir Nealan was a friend of both Captains, and had served in the Scanran war with Keladry of Mindalin and Captain Jones. Tina was slightly in awe of the healer-knight, with his bright, penetrating green eyes and his very sharp tongue. She was a commoner, after all, and had been taught all her life to never yell at nobles. She stared at Rob. Then again, she thought, Rob was a noble, too.

The door wrenched open, exposing Sir Nealan within, scowling. "Is someone _else_ choking on an olive?" the testy knight demanded. Then he saw the three cadets and blinked in surprise. "What's this?" he added.

"Someone's tried to poison the Captains," Tina said urgently, holding out the goblet and meeting the healer's eyes bravely. "Captain Jones drank some."

Sir Nealan's eyebrows rose. "Poisoned?" he asked, taking the goblet and sniffing it. Green fire twined around his hand and wove itself like a net around the gold leafing on the cup. The gemstones glowed.

"We need an antidote, Sir," Liam whispered with unexpected shyness. Tina glanced at her brash friend, confused by his soft voice. Was he intimidated by Nealan, too?

"Yes you do." The knight put the goblet down on a table and then strode back into the room, over to a drawer, which he opened swiftly. Glass rattled within, and he started taking out several tiny bottles and pocketing them. "Is my father there?"

"Duke Baird? Yes," Liam muttered. "He has him stable, he said."

"For the time being," Sir Nealan replied impatiently. He closed the drawer with a rattle and turned to the cadets. Tina looked at him expectantly, and Rob and Liam stood awkwardly beside her. "Well?" the knight barked. "Lead me to him!"

Tina didn't need telling twice. With the two boys and the knight at her heels she turned tail and ran as fast as she could back to the ballroom. She remembered some of the secret passageways from their way to the infirmary, and when she forgot Rob corrected her this time. He said nothing, instead tugging on her arm or changing her course without judgment. She was surprised - she'd always assumed that he was mean, but apparently not.

When they reached the ballroom, Tina shoved the double doors open and made a beeline for the crowd. The clustering, tittering nobles did not move for her, even when she shouted, and despite her pushing and shoving, she got nowhere. Through the crowd, she desperately caught the eye of Silvia Hatter, another cadet.

"Let them through!" Silvia's voice commanded without Tina's prompting. Tina would have smiled, if she could; she supposed that a dire situation like this made words unnecessary.

"How dare you!" hissed one of the nobles, a lady dressed in fine silks. Silvia, too, was a commoner, Tina realized, frustrated.

"You heard her," barked Captain Harkness' voice from deep within the crowd. Her heart swelled with concern when she heard the tightness in his voice.

"Just make way, madam," added Olivia of Tirragan, another cadet, with surprising gentleness. "Make way, make way!" She strode through, and at last, the crowd parted for her.

Tina blinked. Olive, the toughest out of all the cadets, was holding herself like a lady, back straight and chin held high. At the moment, she was every inch the blueblood daughter of Tirragan. The nobles seemed to recognize that.

Sir Nealan of Queenscove had had enough, though.

"Right, you heard her," he muttered, striding past the cadets at last and beginning to fight his way through the crowd. "Move!"

Tina followed quickly at his heels.

Captain Jones, lying in the center of the crowd, was wheezing unevenly with his head pillowed in Captain Harkness' lap. His face was flushed, and even from the distance Tina could see that his eyes were glassy. Duke Baird was crouched beside them both, humming and murmuring spells that glowed green. As she watched, Captain Harkness ran an anxious hand through Captain Jones' hair. Then the crowd shifted, forcing the three cadets back.

"Oh, Captain," whispered Liam quietly behind her.

"He can't die," Rob of High Peak breathed, gripping Liam's arm. "Please, Mithros, he can't." Tina swallowed.

After almost a year, they were a unit, she thought sadly, going over to clasp Rob's hand. The number of cadets had decreased sharply over the last nine months, leaving only eight students left - eight students with whom Captain Harkness seemed satisfied, as the work had leveled off. They were an odd bunch, Tina reflected as she held Rob's hand. He blinked down at her, startled, but then returned her fierce grip. The eight of them were misfits - Tina, who had once been quite popular, had made friends that had dwindled until, at last, the final one had left. She'd spent the last two weeks on her own, loving every second of the air force but working very hard to befriend Liam of Whitehorn, as all of her other friends had gone and she did genuinely like him. Tina didn't know Rob very well, and she'd always rather thought him a snob, but he clearly loved the Captains just as much as Tina did, and that, more than anything, was what mattered.

"It's going to be alright," she told the noble boy earnestly. "Really. Sir Nealan will fix him." Rob looked down at her with anxious, guarded blue eyes.

"It'll destroy Captain Harkness if he dies," Liam whispered. Tina blinked at him, not expecting such a morbid sentiment from the class clown. "Just—destroy him."

Rob shuddered beside her. Tina could feel it, even just holding his hand. "He's not going to die," she told them both firmly. Rob looked back at her. He squeezed her hand, but didn't say anything.

They watched and waited and hoped. Olive eventually joined them, followed by Gil, Silvia and then Dan and Kathy. That was everyone, Tina thought grimly. The eight cadets waited on the edges of the crowd, straining to see their Captains.

From the crowd, a dark shape emerged. Tina looked up to see Numair Salmalin, the mage who taught the Gifted cadets like Kathy Merensdatter and Gillham Smithy, and charged the aerodynes. She'd been serving his table. Tina didn't know him very well, but she liked him. He was handsome, for an older man, and she liked the way the Captains laughed when he was around. Captain Harkness trusted Master Salmalin, and that meant Tina did too.

The mage strode up to the cadets, truly a sight in his formal clothing. His robe billowed around him, and he looked - well, he looked like an adult, only more so. He looked _powerful._ Tina tried not to be intimidated.

"Come on," he told the cadets in his soft voice. "You all should go back to your dormitory. They're going to move Captain Jones to the infirmary."

Tina felt a surge of panic rise up in her throat. No, she wanted to shout. No, no - she wanted to stay with her Captains!

"We're not leaving them, sir," stated Liam firmly, reading her mind.

"Cadet," protested the mage sternly. "Captain Jones needs rest, which he will not get if you are bothering him."

"We're not bothering them," Olivia of Tirragan said fiercely. "We're standing with them. The air force protects its own. There are only eight of us, sir. We'll wait outside the infirmary, or help carry Captain Jones." She looked imploringly up at the tall mage.

"We'll just sneak out if you try to put us away," Silvia added haughtily and, Tina thought to herself, somewhat stupidly. Master Salmalin frowned. Behind him, she saw Captain Harkness lift Captain Jones off the ground, cradling him carefully against his chest. Sir Nealan was at one elbow, Duke Baird at the other. Both had glowing green spells circling Captain Jones like vultures.

"Please," Tina whispered, looking imploringly back at the mage. His eyes had also been on the two Captains and he sighed softly. Tina saw him look at Daine the wildmage, a pretty woman dressed in blue, her curly hair done elegantly against her neck. She was standing beside a noble Tina did not recognize, but Tina saw the woman nod. Master Salmalin frowned.

"Yes, alright," he muttered, turning back to the cadets. "But you're going to wait outside, mind."

"Yessir," Rob said. He still hadn't let go of Tina's hand. The thought suddenly made her stomach go all wobbly, the way it did when Captain Harkness grinned at her.

Oh, Captain Harkness, she thought wretchedly, because Liam was right; if anything happened to Captain Jones, Captain Harkness would just—he'd just collapse. Anyone with eyes could see that.

"Come," Master Salmalin said. "This way." The eight cadets followed the mage down to the infirmary, once more. This time, Tina thought sadly, they used no secret passageways, and the walk was much longer. When they reached the correct wing at last, the door to the infirmary was quite shut.

Master Salmalin waited with them in front of the infirmary for a long time. Tina held Rob's hand and leaned against the wall, staring urgently at the closed door as the eight cadets and the mage stood together in the hallway in silence. When at last the door opened, every cadet stood up straighter, but it was only Daine the wildmage.

"How is he?" Master Salmalin asked before any of the cadets could get a word in edgewise.

"Better," murmured the wildmage. "He's - better. Jack's a wreck." She smiled wryly, but Tina's heart sank. "He needs some time alone with him, I think," Daine added. She looked at the cadets. "You can all go back to your barracks," she told them. "We'll escort you, if you like. Jack and Ianto need some time."

Tina wanted to protest, but Dan beat her to it. "My lady," said the odd cadet grandly, "If it's all the same to you, I would like to stay."

"Me too," added Tina quickly. Rob nodded beside her, and the other cadets echoed the sentiment.

Master Salmalin frowned. "It won't do good waiting out here," he pointed out quietly. "You could come back tomorrow-"

"We're not leaving them, with all due respect, sir," said Gillham firmly. "We want to stay."

The wildmage regarded them for a long moment. She glanced up at the mage and then back to the children. "Very well," she said slowly, deliberately. "Stay. But give them a little while, at least. Captain Jones needs his rest, and frankly Captain Harkness does, too. He's had a scare. We all have. Okay? Can you all take care of yourselves?" she paused. "I don't know the procedures for cadets," she added to Master Salmalin.

"I imagine they're similar to those of pages," the mage murmured.

"We won't get into any trouble, if that's what you're asking, sir," Olivia said firmly.

"That's a vow," Dan added with conviction.

"I'm going to regret this," sighed Master Salmalin. "But it would actually give me peace of mind to leave you all here. Stay together, alright? Don't wander off, and don't spend all night waiting. If no one lets you in, do you promise to leave before the midnight bell?"

"Yes sir," whispered Silvia, clearly lying, Tina thought grimly.

Daine the wildmage looked at her long and hard before nodding slowly. "We've left Kit with Ouna," she told the mage in a murmur. "We need to get her, and someone needs to check on Rikash. Stay together, and stay out of trouble," she added to the cadets firmly.

"...I feel remarkably irresponsible," muttered Master Salmalin as the wildmage led him away.

"In their place, master mage," her voice floated to them as they left, "I would have stayed, too." They turned a corner, and that was that.

Tina nodded to herself, agreeing. She looked around and met the eyes of the other cadets, shared a feeling of fierce camaraderie. They were not leaving their Captains.

There was a very long, very tense silence, as they stood in the hallway. The door remained closed. Rob's palm was sweaty, Tina reflected randomly. She squeezed his fingers. He glanced at her and squeezed back.

Gil was the first to sit on the floor after about a half hour or so. "M'tired of standing," he muttered, voice sheepish.

"I think that sitting is a marvelous idea," proclaimed Dan grandly, and Tina giggled a little at the Player's antics. Kathy Marensdatter, always Dan's shadow, sat with him and leaned anxiously on his shoulder.

Liam sat too, followed by Silvia and Olive, and lastly Tina tugged at Rob's hand. The noble boy looked at her and then sat slowly as well.

"Do you remember," Dan said suddenly to no one in particular, breaking the tense silence, "The time Captain Harkness fell out of that tree?"

Tina smiled nostalgically. "Captain Jones called him a moron," she recalled, and Gil chuckled.

"'Unexplained gust of wind' my ass," he said, quoting Captain Harkness' excuse for his fall. Kathy giggled.

"We were doing 'velocity of Captain Harkness as he falls out of a tree' problems for days," smiled Olivia. "Never mind that it doesn't really change."

"Unless he hits branches on the way down," Gil remarked softly with half a smile.

"There was that one about the squirrels," Silvia added, and Tina laughed outright.

"'How long will it take Captain Jones to reach the top of a tree if his climb is slowed by attacking squirrels?'" she recalled. The other seven cadets chuckled quietly. That particular class had been quite funny - both Captains had sniped back and forth with increasingly ridiculous problems for the cadets to solve.

"Or that time you sneaked up on Captain Jones, Silvia," Kathy whispered, and Tina thought that that might have been the longest she'd heard the quiet girl speak outside of class, "And he yelled like the Scanran army was coming to kill us all?"

The eight cadets shared grins, but then quickly sobered. Rob was still quietly holding her hand, Tina thought, a little bewildered. Liam, always quick to joke, was utterly silent, smiling with the others but saying nothing. He was scared, she realized. They were all scared.

"How bad d'you think it is?" whispered Silvia after their shared amusement had faded away into anxious silence.

"Did you see Captain Harkness' face?" Liam asked, speaking for the first time. "He was terrified. It's bad."

"Scared, Whitehorn?" huffed Olivia quietly. The words were clearly supposed to be a taunt, but her tone was broken. Tina bit her lip and looked at her friend. Liam didn't meet her eyes.

"Yes," he rasped. There was another silence as they all watched the closed door.

"Do you think we can go in?" Rob asked suddenly. Tina glanced at him sharply. "I—I mean," the noble boy stammered, suddenly shy when seven pairs of eyes swung to stare at him, "Captain Harkness is probably alone in there. He's probably panicking just as much as we are."

Olive laughed weakly. "Are you kidding? He's probably panicking _more_ than we are." There were a few chuckles. Tina smiled to herself wistfully. Captain Harkness was nowhere near as staid and composed as Captain Jones - his worry manifested in odd ways, but if one knew what to look for it was certainly there. He was weirdly protective of the cadets, and she imagined he would be more so over Captain Jones.

"The door's locked, though," Kathy whispered, nodding to the closed infirmary door.

Gil snorted. "Yes, but not well." He stood up and strode over to it with an air of determination.

"You can pick locks?" Dan asked, sounding interested.

Gil huffed. "I," he said haughtily, bending to peer at the doorknob, "can break into anything."

They stared at him.

"What?" Gil demanded. He fiddled with the lock for a moment. There were a series of snicking sounds, and Gil drew something out of a pocket. He stuck it through the keyhole and with a _chunk, _the door swung slowly open. He turned and raised an eyebrow at his classmates.

"… since when?" Olive demanded, rising to her feet.

"Since always," Gil muttered, peering inside. The other seven cadets crowded up to him, standing in an awkward cluster in the doorway.

A candle burned low on a table, casting the room into shadow. There was a bed on the far side, and something dark moved upon it. "I was wondering when you lot were going to break in," Captain Harkness' voice floated from the lump of blankets. Tina shared an anxious glance with Kathy of all people. The eight of them hesitated, before Rob tugged on her hand. Tina followed him toward the bed with the other cadets on their heels. Light spilled into the room from the hallway.

"How's he doing, Captain Harkness?" Rob asked softly as they edged away from the light.

"Oh, Captain," whispered Olive, and Tina sucked in her breath, feeling a little devastated herself.

In the light from the hallway and the candle on the table, Captain Jones looked pale, paler than Tina had ever seen him, his skin milky against white sheets. The shadows were unforgiving on his face, casting dark shadows from his nose and eyes, so he looked little more than a skull. Captain Harkness was curled awkwardly around him on the cot, partially lying down but propped up by the pillows, with Jones' head on his stomach. He was leaning on his right elbow, his back against the headboard, his left hand stroking through the other Captain's dark hair. Still dressed in his ballroom finery, his coat draped over a chair next to the bed, Captain Harkness also looked like a wraith, the shadows making him little more than a dark shape against the white of the bed. "Better," he mumbled, rubbing a thumb against Captain Jones' temple. "He's doing better."

The eight cadets approached warily and crept closer when Captain Harkness did not scold them. They crowded around the bed and Gil even dared to touch Captain Jones' arm fretfully. "He looks terrible," the boy whispered. Captain Harkness nodded but he did not reply.

"Dan," he sighed after a moment, glancing around the circle the cadets made around the bed, "will you close the door? Sir Nealan won't be pleased that you're all in here." He gestured to the open door and the light spilling from the threshold. Dan was standing closest.

"But you don't mind," Silvia said, voice soft. Captain Harkness shook his head.

"No," he murmured, hunching a little as though to gather Captain Jones impossibly closer. "I don't mind."

Dan did not comment, which was unlike him - the boy usually had some weird, random comeback. Instead he moved to do as he was asked; the door clicked quietly shut, and the light cut out. Tina blinked, adjusting her eyes to the dark of the room. Now the only light source was the candle burning low on a table. It lit the room poorly, only suggesting shapes in the murky shadows. Both Captains were barely dark forms on the pale sheets of the bed. As her eyes adjusted she saw them better, but the shadows still flickered eerily. She wished Kathy or Gil, the two Gifted Cadets, would cast a light spell. Of course, neither did.

"Are _you_ okay, sir?" Rob asked after a moment of hesitation. Captain Harkness turned his head to look at the boy, eyes obscured in the darkness.

"I will be when he is," he said, fingers stroking through Captain Jones' hair. Tina watched the movement of his fingers, the way they ruffled and parted Captain Jones' dark hair.

That Harkness and Jones were together was no secret, she thought, biting her lip and looking from one Captain to the other with great concern. Captain Harkness practically paraded it around, much to Captain Jones' quiet amusement and the horror of the conservatives in court. But for all of the scandal, they were not overly demonstrative. Oh, Captain Harkness would rest a hand on his co-Captain's shoulder, or they'd smile at each other secretively and Harkness flirted outrageously and anyone with eyes could see that they adored each other, but they never actually did anything where anyone could see them. There were stories of catching them kissing in empty corridors, and one particularly lewd rumor about an incident in the stables, but for the most part, that was it. Tina herself had never seen them do anything inappropriate. Granted, she had only been a cadet for nine months, but that was a long time.

It wasn't that seeing Captain Harkness pressed close to his not-at-all-secret lover was a shock, but for Tina, it hammered the point home. Captain Harkness was scared. Captain Harkness was _never_ scared.

Tina chewed her lip. She _did _nurse a crush on the Captain, and seeing him scared was... well, now that she thought about it, it was rather terrifying.

"Do we know what it was?" Olive asked after a long, strained silence.

"Nightshade," growled Captain Harkness, voice low and dark and furious. His face was not clear in the dim light of the candle, but if she could see it Tina was sure it would look like a thundercloud. _Nightshade, _she thought. Deadly nightshade. She swallowed. "Someone gave him nightshade," the Captain repeated, as though not quite able to wrap his head around it. "Duke Baird tried to heal his lungs, but Sir Nealan needed to give him something to clear it out of his system."

"But why?" Tina demanded wretchedly, unable to understand why anyone would want to harm either of her dearly beloved Captains.

"Oh, the usual reasons," Rob snarled with unexpected fury beside her. His hand tightened around hers and she turned to look at him in surprise. Of course, in the darkness, she could only see his silhouette. "They're unnatural, abhorrent before the gods and perverts and so on and so forth. I got the lecture from my father three days ago when he came for the banquet."

"But that's—that's _stupid_," Tina said, staring at him. Her Captains, unnatural? That was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. They were- they were so wonderful, though. Brave and handsome and brilliant and always laughing, always joking. How could that be bad?

"Welcome to court, Tina," Captain Harkness growled bitterly, voice still soft. He was looking at her, she could feel it even in the dark, but he'd laid a hand over Captain Jones' heart, rubbing softly with his thumb. "Sometimes I hate this damn planet."

"They're not supposed to poison you in court," Olive pointed out dryly.

"Oh, yes, because challenging them to duels is so much better," muttered Kathy sarcastically. Tina blinked at her, surprised by the vehemence in the voice of her quietest classmate.

"We've _been _challenged," Captain Harkness replied. The deep shadows from the candle flickered across his face. "But it's a damned joke. I fly an aerodyne; my fencing skills are rusty at best, and if you think I'm going to let Ianto pick up a sword—" he shuddered visibly, and pressed his palm over Captain Jones' heart.

He's talking to us like adults, Tina realized, a brief swell of love flaring in her heart for her frightened Captain. We're not just kids he's teaching; he's talking to us like we're adults.

"I thought _he_ protected _you_," whispered Olive with weak humor. Captain Harkness flashed his white teeth in the darkness; it was the soft, real smile that was so rare. Tina didn't get the joke.

"He does," Captain Harkness whispered, looking down at the tousled head on his stomach. "In a thousand little ways. Have I ever told you all about the time Ianto saved Cardiff with a post-it-note?"

Cardiff was the name of the city once-upon-a-time, in-a-far-away-land where Torchwood had been, and in Tina's mind it was a land of fairy tales, where nearly all of Captain Harkness' stories took place. She and the other cadets loved to hear his and Captain Jones' stories; they were wild and outrageous, and funny and sad and wonderful. That Captain Harkness was starting one now was like cool water on a hot day. It was a huge relief, an escape from reality, and Tina welcomed it.

There were a few anxious giggles from the other cadets. "What's a post-it-note?" asked Liam softly. It was the first time in a while that he'd spoken. He was pale and afraid, and he had both his hands on the bed, playing anxiously with the sheet. Tina wanted to pat his arm in reassurance, but he was on the other side of the bed and Rob was still holding her hand.

"It's a bit of parchment that has glue on the back of it, so you can stick it places, as a reminder," the Captain explained, settling in for the tale. He moved his hand to stroke Captain Jones' hair. "They're generally brightly colored and obnoxious, and Ianto left them in the most annoying places…"

The cadets crowded closer, to listen to the softly told Torchwood story. Tina let his voice soothe her, and as one tale bled into the next she found herself sitting on the infirmary bed, crowding close. Liam was sitting next to her, and she was finally able to squeeze his arm.

By the time Captain Jones woke, late in the night, the eight cadets were all crowded on the bed, huddled together in the semi-dark room. Captain Harkness' whispered joy was like a balm to an open wound.

It was going to be okay, Tina thought as she felt Liam sag beside her, as Rob let out a relieved breath. Everything was going to be okay.


	34. The Quiet One

Hello all!

So, revising is slow going, but it's going. There's just so much to re-work! Alas. But I miss seeing reviews in my inbox, and I have so many stories pre-written and ready to post. And of course the Doctor Who Christmas special made me want to write more (Flying fish? I was _sooo _happy.) Not to worry, though - the process of revising is still continuing. Anyway, I figured I'd give you all a new year's present: here's another short story about the cadets. This one takes place before "Sticks and Stones," and around the same time as "Pranks" and "Little Boy Lost." It features Ianto and Rob, whom I rather like, and Jack muttering in the background about why teaching what is essentially middle school sucks.

Happy New Years!

* * *

**The Quiet One**

"Robert of High Peak," Captain Jones said softly as the class was shuffling its way to the door. "May I have a word?"

Rob was standing just next to his desk, starting to haul his satchel around his shoulder. He stilled in surprise, and the bag swung a little uselessly on his arm. "Of course, sir," he muttered, mind racing. Had he done something wrong? Was he in trouble? The boy swallowed and took a breath, trying to calm himself.

It was that page he'd seen in the hallway the other day, he thought frantically as he walked quietly to Captain Jones' desk. That page who had tried to start a fight with him - Victor of Nond. But Rob had just walked away; he wasn't the fighting type, unlike some of the other cadets, who tussled regularly with the castle pages. Surely, surely, he couldn't be in trouble for _refusing_ to fight—

He shuffled in front of the desk and shyly raised his eyes. Captain Jones, sitting on the other side, met his gaze warmly.

"This is very good, Robert," He said softly after the door swung shut after Kathy Merensdatter, always the last to leave. Captain Harkness, who had been lecturing today and so was already standing, picked up an eraser and started to scuff out the chalk marks on the blackboard.

Rob blinked at Captain Jones. "Sir?" he asked, bewildered. What was very good?

Captain Jones tapped a sheet of parchment on the desk. Rob looked down; it was his homework from last night. "Your calculations," the Captain elaborated. "Yours was the most elegant solution in the class—more elegant than Jack's even." He tilted his head to Captain Harkness, still erasing the board.

Rob looked down at his parchment. It was a wind problem—about vibrations of a loose plank on the wing of a hypothetical aircraft, and the noise it would make. "Thank you, sir," he mumbled, still confused.

"You're not getting it," Captain Harkness said dryly. Still holding the eraser, he walked away from the chalkboard and leaned an arm against the back of Captain Jones' chair. Captain Jones grimaced a little as the white dust sprinkled the shoulder of his coat. "The problem was about how loud the sound was. You found how loud the sound was, but then you proposed a solution to _fix it _that didn't involve stripping the canvas from the wing and replacing it. Robert, what Ianto was trying to say is that this is _good_. I mean, really, really good." Captain Harkness tapped the parchment. His fingers, covered with chalk, left little white smudges.

Rob didn't really know how to reply. "But isn't that the point?" he asked quietly, awkward. "If the wing of a spydyne's rattling, then it should be fixed. It could—"

"Yes, that is the point," Captain Jones interrupted gently. Captain Harkness opened his mouth, but Captain Jones shooed him away. "Robert, this is stellar," he praised again. "Truly. I wanted to tell you that personally, because you're the only student left who hasn't come to see one of us at some point." He smiled gently.

"Is that bad?" Rob asked, still confused and now a little apprehensive.

"No," Captain Jones assured him with a smile. "Not at all. Really, I wanted an excuse to talk to you. Are you doing alright? Every time I see you, you're alone."

Rob shrugged shyly. "I'm not really popular," he said, almost a whisper.

"That is the problem with teaching a bunch of middle schoolers—" Captain Harkness complained loudly from the blackboard.

"Jack, I will kick you out," Captain Jones warned. Rob smiled a little, amused, as always, at their banter.

Captain Jones turned back to Rob, oblivious to the face Captain Harkness made at his back. "You seem lonely," Jones said quietly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Rob sucked in a shocked breath, fist clenching at his side. He stared at the Captain, floored. "Is it that obvious?" he asked, bitterness creeping into his voice, but there was also a strange sort of relief. Someone had noticed. Someone cared. And not just someone: it was Jones, his favorite of the two Captains. Rob wasn't just another face in the crowd.

"Only to someone who knows what that's like," Captain Jones assured him. Rob goggled at him.

"You—" he started, unsure where he was going.

"I lost everything, once," the Captain smiled. "I know what it's like to be lonely, Robert."

"I talk to Malorie sometimes," Rob muttered at his shoes. Malorie of Goldenlake was a classmate, but she was rather dim, Rob thought. She was struggling, and in this taxing program Rob doubted that she would make it. Still, she talked to him, and that was something. At least she was a girl; back at home, he'd never have the courage to talk to any girl aside from his sisters, let alone one his age.

"But you don't really like her," Captain Jones said. "I can tell."

Rob bit his lip. Was he really this transparent? "How-?"

"I know everything," the Captain assured him. Captain Harkness gave a quiet chuckle from the chalkboard.

Rob's eyes skittered to Harkness, and then back to Jones. "That's creepy," he muttered, and then blanched, not meaning to have said it aloud. Captain Jones barked a surprised laugh and Rob smiled a little in response.

"Listen," the Captain said, passing the sheet of parchment back to Rob. It was covered in scribbles in the expensive red ink both Captains used; Rob could see both of their handwriting. Red was generally a bad sign, but here he could see praises and suggestions, as though the two had sat down and discussed it. "There's a group project coming up, and we want it to be an involved one. Would you like me to pair you with someone who's not Malorie?"

Rob blinked. He glanced at the door nervously. Malorie was vengeful and a little scary; no way would he hear the end of it if he agreed. "Um," he said.

"If Dan wouldn't throw a fit, I'd pair you with Kathy," Captain Jones said idly, leaning back into his chair. "But you're both so shy that I don't think any work would get done. I've seen you talk to Silvia." He arched an eyebrow.

Silvia Hatter had barged into the boy's barracks, once, and held an entire conversation with a rather unwilling Rob. She was - sort of annoying, really, but in a nice way. It didn't matter, though. She was a commoner, and therefore off limits.

It was some weird new experiment the Captains were trying, Rob was sure of it. At the information session, when they'd first opened the air force to the public, Captain Harkness had explained that they needed cadets badly enough to not choose between noble and common blood – the work was hard enough, he'd said; they'd weed out the worst of the bunch and get only the best. It was sort of confusing, really; why let the commoners disappoint themselves? Everyone knew commoners weren't smart. But this place was rocking the foundation of Rob's blueblood education to the core, because after twelve weeks, there were still more commoners than nobles in the program.

So of course he couldn't speak to them, because his father might get wind of it and Rob was not really keen on getting the lecture about blueblood and what happened to nobles who disgraced themselves. Frankly, it was slightly amazing that Rob's father hadn't insisted that he leave, what with all the commoners running about. Nevertheless, Rob was lonely.

He blushed, embarrassed. "My father doesn't like me talking to commoners," Rob whispered to his shoes. Captain Harkness, still pretending to erase the blackboard, muttered something under his breath.

"They're not commoners," Captain Jones told him gently. "They're cadets, like you. And if he gives you grief, I'll talk with him."

"N-no—" Rob spluttered, horrified.

"If you don't want me to, I won't," the Captain said, relenting. "But that's a silly rule to have. May I pair you with Silvia? Or would you like someone else?"

Rob wished he had the courage to request Olive of Tirragan, but he most definitely did not. "Silvia's okay," he mumbled.

"Alright. Keep this," Captain Jones said, tapping the parchment. "And think about it—Jack and I made some suggestions." He smiled again. "It'll be an interesting few years, Robert. I'm looking forward to when you start building."

Rob couldn't help it; he beamed at the praise. "You think I'll make it?" The program was tough; the Captains had said that they were going to lose more than half of their students. Even now, fifty had become twenty, which had become fifteen. The numbers were still dropping, and the work was only getting harder. This was a competitive program, after all.

"No doubt about it," Captain Jones affirmed. "After this? Absolutely. Now off with you." He shooed Rob away, a hint of play in his eyes. "You have a lot of work to do tonight. Take that." He nodded to the parchment.

Rob took it with a shy smile. "Thank you, sir," he managed and then left with a little bow.

I'm going to _frame_ it, he thought as he walked back to the barracks, elated, and started to read the comments.


	35. The Dark Ages

Hello, all! So, both Guardian and Spaces have had errors corrected! Or, at least, all the errors I could find. Yay! So, in celebration, I'm going to post another story about the cadets. I'm thinking next chapter, maybe a little more about Joseph and Olive... or possibly one about Kathy. We'll see. The previous story was about Rob, one of Ianto's favorites - this one is about Olivia, one of Jack's. Tortall is, as I've said, pretty medieval, and in the background of... well, most of these stories, really... is Court frowning heavily on Jack and Ianto. They've got powerful friends, and they've been pretty busy, so there haven't been many confrontations (yet), but now they're training cadets and spending a lot of time in the castle, and around nobles who are pretty disapproving. This story is sort of about how outside of the protection of King Jon, Alanna, Daine and Numair, there are those who are Not Happy.

* * *

**The Dark Ages  
(As Far as Jack is Concerned)**

The sobbing in the night was soft and scared, and it woke Jack. He sat up in his bedroll, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Olivia?" he whispered, confused.

The cadet whimpered and cringed before peeking her head out of her own bedroll. Her eyes were bloodshot and furious as she glared at him "What do you want?" she hissed defensively. Jack blinked, startled; she had never taken that tone with him before.

Olivia of Tirragan was one of the tougher cadets in her class. She had to be; her brother Joseph was, to be frank, an ass, whom Jack hoped to drive out of the program. Olive herself he wanted to keep, but that brother was trouble.

Jack was almost positive that Joseph was responsible for this whole fiasco, after all.

He and Ianto had taken the cadets camping, for some ridiculous character-building thing. It was something the pages did and apparently it was important for life skills. Since they were modeling the cadet program on the page program, Jack had sort of shrugged and said what the hell - they would try it.

The results had been... rather interesting. Ianto was not a man made for camping, but Jack sort of liked it, and it was amusing to watch the cadets scramble and sing as they made their way up the mountain. Liam of Whitehorn, one of Jack's favorites, had started up some weird Tortallan version of 'ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall,' and the other children had joined in. It kept the Immortals away, at least, although frankly Jack silently dared any spidrin to try to eat one of these children. Rikash swooped as a scout above the forest, Jack had his revolver, and Ianto was armed with more of his Stormwing knives than Jack could count. Never mind that Gillham Smithy always seemed to have some sort of weapon on him, and Kathy Merensdatter was almost frighteningly good with a sling. The little troop was well protected.

Or so Jack had thought, anyway.

Olivia of Tirragan had gone missing around sunset. Jack had panicked, left the other fifteen children with Ianto, and tracked her down himself. He'd found her in the fading twilight, some ways from the trail, tied to a tree but struggling valiantly. He'd untied her, but by then it was dark, so they'd made camp. She refused to tell him who had tied her up, or why, but Jack knew. It was very likely that it was her damned brother.

Jack was furious, of course, both with her for not naming the culprit and the culprit himself, but not so angry that it eclipsed his concern. Still, he had not been expecting her to cry in the night.

"Lots of things," Jack replied softly. "I want you to tell me who tied you up, for one." He gave a small, quirky grin, hoping to startle at least a smile out of her. It didn't work; she flushed dully and her eyes dropped.

That is not at all like the bold, brash Olivia who got into loud, violent fights with her brother in the middle of class. "They make fun of you, you know," she muttered after an awkward silence. She didn't specify. She didn't really need to; the '_they'_ she was talking about were sort of ubiquitous, in Tortall. Jack shrugged, surprised at the strange, random topic.

"They're idiots," he replied easily, unsure where that had come from.

She swallowed. "I know." Her voice was uncertain. Jack watched her from across the embers of their dying fire, confused. An inkling was starting to knock at the back of his mind. She had been very uncomfortable with him all evening, but he'd just chalked that up to his own awkwardness with kids in general. Maybe that wasn't the case. Even still, what did that have to do with being tied up by her brother?

"Does it bother you?" he asked quietly on instinct.

"That they make fun of you?" she replied, question for question.

"No," Jack shook his head. "Me'n Captain Jones." He kept Ianto's title formal and eyes on hers. The politics of Tortall were remarkably old fashioned, more so than they had been on Earth. For himself, Jack could not care less—he was who he was, and everyone else could either get used to it or go home, as far as he was concerned. He'd expressed these views to the cadets—not in so many words, but in general attitude. It was sort of fun shocking the court, anyway.

Some had actually left when they found out, thinking them perverts who were trying to seduce the cadets, as though the air force was some massive orgy. Ianto had been very hurt, but Jack had only been angry. Some, like Tina Mills, one of Jack's favorites, had not cared at all—although to be fair Tina had been a little confused for a while. Others, like Dan Markam, had known all along, and joined up anyway.

Olive had never said a word. Jack had always assumed she didn't care, but it seemed like she did. It sort of made sense, really—she was a noble, from a rather conservative family.

"Yes," she whispered, as though ashamed. Her voice hitched in the darkness. "It's stupid, but it does."

Jack shrugged. "I'm not going to apologize," he told her frankly. "Where I'm from, you love who you love and no one remarks on it."

Olive swallowed. "You l-love him?" she asked hesitantly, as though surprised.

"Very much," Jack replied gravely. She let out a gust of breath.

"Really?" she whispered bitterly. "Because where _I'm_ from, love's something in fairy-tales."

Noble class, Jack thought grimly. The noble class and their blue blood and arranged marriages. It was so old fashioned as to be almost painful. "You _have_ seen the wildmage's dragon, right?" Jack remarked. Tortall, all of Tortall, felt like a fairytale to him, like a long wished for _happily ever after. _Saying that love was a fairytale was sort of like a drop in the bucket.

Olive gave an unladylike snort. "Good point. Still. There's not much in the way of _love_ in Tirragan. My family thinks you're perverts." Her eyes gleamed with tears, just barely visible in the dying firelight, and her voice was uncertain.

Jack scowled. "Good for them," he replied dryly. "I think they're bastards. No offense, just defending my own."

Olive huffed a weak laugh. "My brother's going to think you raped me," she said frankly after a brief moment of silence, made bold by the darkness. "Or that I propositioned you, and you accepted. He thinks I'm a whore."

Jack stared at her indistinct shadow on the other side of the embers incredulously. The thought had not even crossed his mind. "Please excuse the insult to your family, but your brother is an _ass_," he snapped.

"I know," Olive whispered, and her voice hitched with longstanding hurt. "Oh, Mithros, Captain Harkness, I _know_."

And like a flash of lightning, Jack suddenly understood what was wrong with Olive of Tirragan. She was scared of him. Oh, god, this was _stupid! _

"Listen to me, Tirragan," he growled fiercely, suddenly furious with this damn planet and its damn culture. "I don't care if the whole stupid country thinks I'm a pervert or—or sexually deviant or whatever. They can take my aerodynes and banish me from court and send the lot of you home for protection from my _nefarious_ ways." This dripped with sarcasm. "But they will not change me and they will not own me. I'll go quietly, but the second they lay a finger on Ianto Jones, His Highness will have made a serious enemy. But that's _it_, Olive. I would never, never try _anything_ with someone unwilling. _Never, _and that's more than you can say for a lot of nobles." He watched her seriously. She swallowed.

"I—I sort of deserved that," she whispered wretchedly, and Jack cursed himself. She's a noble, he thought in irritation. You just insulted her family. Stupid.

"No," he told her. "You don't deserve anything of the sort, Olive. You're brilliant, do you understand me? You're not a whore, and you have nothing to be afraid of."

"My brother is an idiot," she muttered, looking down. Jack could see she was shivering and close to tears, but, much as he wanted to, he didn't go over to her.

"Yeah, and I can get him kicked out for abuse, you know," Jack growled. "Or anything I want, really."

"Sir—" she whispered, eyes wide and desperate. Jack cut her off.

"But I won't, if you don't want me to," he added quietly. "And I'm not going to touch you, either, as you seem to think, so relax. I'm giving monogamy a try," he added flippantly, and her giggle was weak.

"But," she whispered softly after a pause. "But—Why?"

"Why what? Why monogamy? Because Ianto's from a culture where that's the rule, and as regrettable as it is, I don't want to hurt him." Jack shrugged.

"No," she giggled nervously. "Why—why do you love him? Another m-man, I mean."

Jack stared at her, not quiet comprehending. "He's—he's Ianto," he said, confused. "Does his gender really matter? He's got a great sense of humor, he's more loyal than anyone I know, he's brilliant, brave and he has a heart of gold, never mind that he's gorgeous. What's not to love?"

"What about girls?" Olivia asked, voice barely a whisper. "Men are supposed to like girls."

"I like girls," Jack said, affronted. "I like guys, too. Olive, I'd like a _spidrin_ if it didn't try to kill me. Well," he added, thinking about it. The eight legs offered possibilities, as did the webbing, but the females at least had webs that burned, and those legs were tipped with claws. Jack was open to just about anything, but he wasn't the biggest fan of pain. It could be fun sometimes, if applied correctly, but he doubted that any spidrin would be so careful. "Maybe not. It'd have to be a really hot spidrin—they're usually sort of dirty and not in a good way. I do have _some_ taste."

She giggled again, surprised. "A _spidrin_?" she demanded, sounding as though she couldn't decide whether to be amused or disgusted.

"It's the damned dark ages here!" Jack scowled in exasperation. "_Why does it matter? _Sex is sex, love is love. It's nice, it's fun, and it's companionship in the cold. As long as it's willing, who _cares_?"

Olivia was quiet for a long moment. Jack shifted to lie on his back, glaring at the leaves on the trees and the stars that peaked through them. This planet was so stupid, he thought angrily. More than twentieth century Earth, sometimes.

"You're right," she murmured after a while. "It is sort of silly, isn't it?"

"It's beyond silly, it's idiotic," Jack muttered.

"It's—it's just like the wildmage and Master Salmalin, isn't it?" she whispered. Jack looked at her quizzically at the mention of his friends, but she couldn't see him. She was staring at the stars, too. "They're not conventional, so everyone talks about them and calls her a whore and him a rake. But Master Salmalin's not going to _assault_ his students, just because he took the wildmage to his bed." Now she did glance at him, although she still seemed a little shy. "Like you're not going to try anything with me, just because you're sleeping with Captain Jones. You—you really love him, don't you?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah. A lot."

She bit her lip. "What's it like?" she asked, just as quiet.

"I take it you don't want the technical details," Jack said dryly.

"No!" she spluttered. "No, no I just—" she babbled, flustered.

Jack laughed softly. "Relax, I'm teasing. It's—" he paused. How could he even—? Something that had started out as sex in Torchwood – and, well, the sex was still damn good – had evolved into something with so much meaning that Jack's heart swelled with it. "There aren't really—words. It's nice," he said lamely. "It's really, really nice."

There was a silence, and then Olive suddenly broke off into giggles.

"What?" Jack asked, a little bewildered.

"Girl talk with Captain Harkness," Olive chuckled. Jack picked up a twig and threw it at her. "Hey!" she yelped. "That's child abuse!"

Jack snorted. "I'm the Captain; I'm entitled," he teased.

"Nuh-uh!" she said, and there was the Olive he knew. "I'll report you to the Temple of the Goddess, don't think I won't!"

"Yeah, see, then Ianto will come after you," Jack joked, wagging his finger. "He's very protective, you know."

Olive giggled again, a little embarrassed and still a little nervous, but she was adjusting. She was going to be alright, Jack thought with amusement and, if he was honest with himself, a small amount of relief.

They'd really have to do something about her brother, though, and they had to get her away from that family. It sounded downright poisonous.

"I can't even imagine," she muttered then giggled. "He protects _you_? Does that make you the wife?"

"Olivia of Tirragan," Jack threatened mockingly, and she giggled again. He grinned in the darkness. This was more like it.

When they arrived back to camp the next day, Olive took one look at Ianto, looked back at Jack and burst out laughing, much to the confusion of Ianto and the other cadets. With that laugh and the clear acceptance, she won her place in Jack's heart.

He was going to get rid of that awful brother of hers even if he had to die a hundred times trying, he promised her silently. No one was going to call this girl a whore or fill her heart with poison ever again, not if Jack had anything to say about it, because she was brilliant to her core. There was a good soul underneath all that armor and insecurity, and he'd be damned if he let that girl's brother twist it any longer.


	36. Five Times Dan Wasn't the Weirdest

This was a little exercise I did because it was fun - a hundred fifty words each, and all of the cadets are mentioned. I seem to write a lot of angst... so here's some fun stuff.

* * *

**FIVE TIMES DAN WASN'T THE WEIRDEST CADET IN THE ACADEMY,  
AND ONE TIME HE WAS**

* * *

_Liam ends up in a strange situations._

"You know, even I think that's a little odd, Liam," Dan Markam said.

"Shut up," muttered Liam. His eyes peaked from the broken clay jar that sat over his head like an absurd mask. Predictably, he was covered in flour.

"I mean," Dan continued, following Liam as he walked away determinedly, "How did you even _fit_ your head in there?"

"Shut _up,_" Liam repeated for clarification. Dan still followed him. Damn commoners, Liam thought without heat.

"You haven't answered my question," Dan reminded him cheerfully.

"It was supposed to go on Victor of Nond's head," growled Liam. Victor of Nond was a page, and a mortal enemy of the cadets. Dan snorted.

"Backfired?"

"Quite."

Dan snickered, twiddled his fingers and left Liam to it.

"You're really helpful," growled Liam, and went to find a wall somewhere. Hopefully, if he beat his head against it, it would break the damn ceramic.

.

* * *

.

_Olivia has long and detailed conversations with amphibians_

"…why are you talking to a frog?" Dan asked.

Olivia of Tirragan jumped. The animal she had clutched in her hand twisted and leaped down to land in the grass and hopped away.

"Um. It's not a frog. It's a toad," she said, somewhat uselessly. "There's no pond." She gestured to the dew covered ground. "Frogs live in ponds."

"Okay, then," Dan said grandly. "Why are you talking to a toad, then?"

"None of your business," she huffed, standing regally in the way she sometimes did and flouncing off.

"Are you a wildmage?" he asked, trotting to keep up.

She glared at him.

"Right," Dan muttered. "I'll take that as a no." He stopped trotting. She stormed off, back to the barracks.

Dan stared at her retreating back. Kathy called him strange, but really, they were all pretty weird, here. He shrugged to himself and followed Olive into the barracks.

.

* * *

.

_Rob has a strange sense of humor_

Silvia Hatter was sort of annoying.

Dan was hanging upside down in his favorite hanging upside down tree, watching her walk backward as she talked animatedly with Rob of High Peak. Rob kept on shying away from her touches, but she didn't seem to be taking the hint. He thought maybe he should shout to them and take the pressure off the boy, but really, it might be more amusing to watch what would happen.

Rob was a lot like Captain Jones. Eventually, he'd make his displeasure known.

Dan watched them as they walked down the path into the edges of the Royal Forest and as he watched, Silvia banged into every tree along the path, and some trees that weren't.

Rob smiled to himself, still quiet, still clearly fond of his irritating friend.

That, Dan thought as Rob angled himself so Silvia walked into yet another tree, took talent.

.

* * *

.

_On occasion, Tina is a madwoman with a rake_

That Tina had a crush on Captain Harkness was not what bothered her. Everyone had a crush on Captain Harkness. What bothered her was the fact that she'd said _yes, _stars in her eyes, before she'd really heard the favor he wanted of her.

Which is how she'd ended up knee deep in horse manure. From the other side of the stable, Captain Jack's gelding, Red, watched her with big eyes.

"Don't look at me all innocent," she scolded him.

The horse snorted.

"Hey! Don't get smart with me." She lifted up the rake she was using and waved it in the air, not really meaning the threat.

"I think you just lost an argument with a horse," Dan commented from where he was sitting on a rafter.

It figured that Dan would be up there, watching her make a fool of herself, Tina thought.

"I hate everyone," she muttered.

.

* * *

.

_Mithros only knows what Gil is doing_

"_The_ j-_gen-tle _bru_-brush of Love and his_ kip-_Kyp-ri-an Mother will_ im-imb-b-oo? _Imbue!_ _Our bodies with_ de-si-er—_desire_*—Captain, what in the name of Mithros _is_ this?" Dan peeked through the open doorjamb when he heard Gil's voice.

"This, m'boy, is what I remember of Lysistrata," Captain Harkness said proudly.

"This is _weird_," Gil muttered. Dan squinted.

Gillham Smithy was sitting at a table with Captain Jack Harkness, a notebook opened on the table between them. The boy was looking skeptical.

"Is not! It's a classic play!" The Captain said, wounded.

"It's about sex," Gil replied flatly. Dan raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

"Of course it's about sex; all the best stuff's about sex. Now." Captain Harkness pointed to the page in the book. "_And raise—_" he intoned.

Gil rolled his eyes. "_And raise a st-storm to t-tense and _taw_-tau-ten the _b-_bodies_-"

Dan figured it was better not to ask.

.

* * *

.

_... and Dan Markham presents his lady-love with a wondrous gift  
_

Someone was calling her name.

Kathy looked up from the book that Rob had given her for her birthday. Rob was really quite sweet, once she'd realized that he was just as shy as she was.

"Kathy!" the voice hissed again. Rob's face, open and tentative, shut down into his familiar, blue blood mask. Kathy sighed.

"Thank you, Rob," she murmured, patting his arm. His eyes warmed briefly. "Dan Markam, come out of the bushes, would you?" Kathy added wryly. Rob rolled his eyes.

"I should've known," he muttered.

Dan came tumbling out of the bracken. His tunic was covered in mud splatters, as though he'd been jumping in puddles. "I have a present for you!" Leaves stuck at every angle from his matted, wild hair, and in his fist he held something tarnished that looked like—

"…Is that a _spoon_?" Rob demanded incredulously, and Kathy collapsed into delighted laughter.

.

* * *

.

AN: _"We'll wait for the wind of heaven. The gentle brush of Love and his Kyprian mother will imbue our bodies with desire, and raise a storm to tense and tauten [the bodies of] these blasted men until they crack," _is the line that Gil's reading. It's Lysistrata, an ancient Greek comedy that Jack definitely would have tried to commit to memory. It's about the war between Athens and Sparta, and the premise is this: in order to end the war, all the women in Athens stop having sex with the men. It's really funny, and filled with horny men and women making sex jokes. I feel like Jack would memorize random lines, just because they were amusing.

Jack promised to teach Gil how to read... but he never said _what _they'd be reading.


	37. Realizations

**Realizations**

_"There you go. I can taste it. Estrogen. Definitely Estrogen. You take the pill, flush it away, it enters the water cycle, feminizes the fish. Goes all the way up into the sky, then falls all the way back down onto me. Contraceptives in the rain. Love this planet. Still, at least I won't get pregnant. Never doing that again."_  
- Jack Harkness, "Everything Changes"

* * *

"But we're family," Gil had said. "You can't turn your back on family."

Slowly, Jack unlocked the door to Ianto's room, lost in thought.

"_Skysong!_" Ianto's laughing voice floated from within, and there was a crash as something fell to the ground. "Kit, pick that up—what have I said about jumping on the furniture?"

Jack smiled to himself. He pushed the door open, and Ianto looked up. The bright, beaming grin he gave Jack could have melted the hearts of kings, Jack thought affectionately.

Ianto was sitting on the floor with his back to the end of the couch, with his legs stretched out in front of him like a child. Kitten had a bowl made of Stormwing feathers clutched in her right claw, and she was standing on the tips of her hind feet to put it back on the table beside the door, as it was where Jack and Ianto kept keys and spare change. As such, bronze coins littered the floor. When the dragon caught sight of Jack she squealed, dropped the bowl again and raced to him.

Jack laughed. "Hi, sweetheart!" he greeted the dragon, bending to sweep her into his arms. He hoisted her up, walked inside, closed the door with his foot and then spun on his heel, twirling with the dragon in his arms. She shrieked with glee and chattered excitedly at him when he stopped.

"Kit, you still have to pick up the bowl," Ianto told her dryly, getting to his feet.

Jack put the dragon back to the ground. "Do as he says," he told her. She huffed and trotted off to get the bowl. Jack strode over to Ianto and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't get up," he smiled, kissing the top of his head. "You looked comfortable."

"Mm," Ianto agreed, sitting back down. Jack fell to the ground beside him.

"How was class?" Ianto asked, eyes on Kitten as the dragon finally got the bowl on top of the high table. Now she was bent to the ground, picking up the coins and Ianto's keys, which had fallen. Jack took out his copy of the key to the door and fiddled with it.

It was a big, iron key, with an ornate bow and a long, hollow cylindrical blade. There were three millings, two that were rectangles and one that was a triangle. Tortallan locks were obscenely easy to pick, he thought idly.

"It was alright," Jack shrugged, rubbing his thumb against the triangular milling. "How was dragon-sitting?"

Kit raced over, chattering excitedly. She clambered adoringly into Jack's lap and he chuckled. "Good, I take it?" he added, smiling.

"Exhausting," Ianto sighed. Playfully, he grabbed Kitten's muzzle and shook her head. She squealed gleefully and fought him. "She's a handful. I've no idea how Daine manages."

"How Daine _will _manage," Jack corrected with a small grin.

Ianto shook his head. "I still can't believe she's pregnant."

"_I_ still can't believe she keeps on shape shifting," Jack muttered, and Ianto snorted.

Their friend was heavily pregnant at this point, but there were complications. Daine was, of course, a wildmage, and her lover—not yet her husband, even pregnant, and the scandal of court, along with Jack and Ianto—was Numair Salmalin, the strongest mage in Tortall. That made the baby doubly magical, and a handful even in the womb. The child was powerful enough to shape change, and poor Daine had to keep up with it.

The wildmage was barely getting any sleep, having to change her bottom half constantly, lest her child transform into a baby elephant and rip through her womb. This left her exhausted and nearly bedridden. Numair was a nervous wreck, of course, but that was no surprise. The mage worshiped the ground Daine walked on, and even the possibility that she might get hurt was sending him mental.

Kitten, therefore, had been staying with Jack and Ianto. Neither Daine nor Numair could keep up with her, with Daine so incapacitated, and the dragon was starting to get frustrated. Daine had given her a choice, of course, and the dragon had elected to go. Jack was quite possibly her favorite person next to Daine and Numair, and a few weeks spent with him and Ianto was like a treat.

They had tried taking the dragon to lecture the cadets with them, but she'd run around and been a complete distraction. Tina Mills had actually shrieked at the sight of her, sending Jack into fits of laughter. Rob of High Peak seemed enchanted, though; the quiet boy had slipped her sugar cubes when he thought no one was looking. Of course, that sent the dragon wild, and the whole thing had been a disaster. Ianto had had to let the kids out early and he'd given Kit a firm scolding.

So now he and Jack took turns watching the dragon and lecturing. It worked out pretty well, all things considered, and it was only temporary. Once Daine gave birth and stopped having to constantly shape shift—which, frankly, would be any day now—she and Numair would take Kitten back.

"Have you spoken with her recently?" Ianto asked. Kit broke free from his hand and pounced on him, clambering up his shoulders and onto the couch at his back. Ianto bore it patiently, eyes amused. "Last time I was there she went from a deer to a mouse. I have no idea how she copes."

"At least it's all mammals," Jack shrugged. He tucked the key into his pocket and reached up to grab Kitten's tail, pulling her down from the couch. "Wouldn't it be weird if she laid an egg? Gotchya!" he added to Kit, scooping her into his arms. She trilled and fought only briefly, before snuggling in.

Ianto looked vaguely fascinated. "I… imagine it would be easier?" he said after a moment. Jack snorted.

"Depends on the size of the egg." He hugged Kitten like a teddy bear. The dragon went limp and cooed happily.

Ianto didn't reply. Instead he watched Jack quietly for a long moment, eyes soft. Jack blinked at him, a little confused, and Ianto smiled. "You're good with her," he said at last, nodding to the dragon in Jack's arms.

Kit mumbled something, but Jack only shrugged. "I liked kids, once upon a time," he said wryly. "Still do, really." He rubbed a thumb against the dragon's scales.

"Mm," Ianto hummed, and leaned his head against Jack's shoulder. "I was always sort of awkward. I guess it's different when they're… well, dragons." Kit huffed at him, and he chucked her under the chin.

"And the cadets?" Jack asked. "You're good with the cadets."

"They're older," Ianto protested.

_Family, _Gil had said. Jack sighed.

"No, Ianto," Jack murmured. "They're yours. It's different when they're yours."

Ianto looked up at him quizzically. "Just—something Gil said today," Jack mumbled.

"Gil?" Ianto asked. "Gil Smithy?"

"Gil Smithy," Jack agreed. "Apparently there were a bunch of pages being nasty. You know how they can get. Anyway, I found Gil with a knife, and he was telling them to take back whatever they said. I broke it up, but he told me…" his voice trailed thoughtfully. Kit clucked at him, and he tugged playfully on a wing.

"He told you…?" Ianto prompted.

"I've always said the air force defends its own, but I didn't really expect him to take it that much to heart." Jack smiled wryly. "Apparently the pages had been calling us names, and Gil was defending our honor. He called us a family."

Ianto blinked. "Family?"

"Well, Gil's probably not got the best home life," Jack shrugged. "What with the penal mines and all. I imagine he's, I don't know, adopted us." He cuddled Kitten.

Ianto frowned thoughtfully. "Silvia has, too," he said slowly.

"Oh?" Jack asked, surprised.

"I overheard her talking to Rob," Ianto shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. "She said we were like uncles or parents. Rob agreed. Now that I think of it…" his voice trailed.

"Dan Markam told Kathy Merensdatter the other day that we were, and I quote, 'looking-glass fathers,'" Jack added wryly. "I have no idea what that means."

"Looking-glass fathers," Ianto smiled. "I like that. Dan's a bit of a poet, isn't he? Does that make him our looking-glass son?"

Something, somewhere, clicked in Jack's brain. Being pleased about being called family was one thing but - but _that _was something completely different. A _son. _A son that didn't hate him. A son whom he _loved, _because Jack did love all eight of the cadets, despite his better judgment. He stared at Ianto, shocked. Ianto blinked at him, not seeming to understand the the look on Jack's face. Then the smile slipped from his lips and his eyes went round as he made the connection. Kit squirmed and chirruped quizzically.

There was a long, horrified silence.

"Oh god," Ianto muttered.

"We have _kids,_" Jack told him stupidly. "How did we get kids?"

They stared at each other. Kitten chirped and wriggled from Jack's arms. She climbed up the couch and scrambled away. There was a crash followed by an apologetic squeak.

"Well," Ianto said wryly when the incredulous silence stretched. "At least neither of us got pregnant."


	38. Retaliation

**Retaliation  
**

"Hey," Dan Markam hissed. "Hey, Tina,"

Tina blinked and turned, frowning. Captain Harkness was sitting on the desk in the front of the room, swinging his legs absurdly as he lectured about torque and rotational velocity.

"What?" she whispered.

"Oi! You two, talking here!" Captain Harkness interjected.

"Sorry, Cap'n," said Dan, unapologetic. Captain Jones, writing something on the blackboard, snorted.

"Something you want to share, Jones, Ianto Jones?" Captain Harkness asked, swinging around to look at him.

Captain Jones drew a dotted line from the center of the circle on the board to the circumference. "Nothing relevant, no," he said dryly. "Only that Dan manages to sound less and less like he means 'I'm sorry' every time he says it."

"That's because he doesn't," Olivia interjected, and Dan put a hand over his heart as though mortally wounded. Kathy giggled quietly.

"O how you break my heart!" Dan gasped dramatically.

"_Any_way," Captain Harkness continued, "back in the land of rotational velocity – anyone want to tell me why we don't use rotating blades in our dynes?"

"Be—because we can't get them to spin fast enough," Gil said without raising his hand, sounding surprised.

"Elaborate," Captain Jones stated, turning around and walking up to the desk to stand behind Captain Harkness. He put a hand on Captain Harkness' shoulder in a casual display of affection. Tina had always nursed a crush on Captain Harkness, but the two of them made her feel all mushy, sometimes. They were so _cute._

As Gil began to talk about the kinds of machinery one could build with the materials available, and how Gift-power interfered with lift, Dan poked Tina again.

_"What?"_ she hissed, a little irritated. This was an important lecture! He passed her a note. Tina took it, a little bewildered, and glanced around the room. Passing notes wasn't really a necessity, not anymore. Years ago, when the number of cadets had been rather obscene, Tina had passed notes with her friend Dessie. But now, with the eight of them close as family, if anyone wanted to say something, one generally just said it. The Captains didn't mind.

Captain Jones caught her eye and arched an eyebrow at her. Tina shrugged at him and looked back down at the paper Dan had given to her. Gil was still talking, so Tina carefully unfolded the note under her desk. It seemed Captain Jones was going to let her get away with this—for now.

Dan's handwriting was scratchy, but it was legible.

_Victor of Nond called Captain Harkness a poof, and his father filed a lawsuit against Captain Jones, because he's an ass and a bigot. Care to join the retaliation? _

Tina blinked, startled. Pranks were not something she was generally involved with – it was usually Dan and Liam scheming with practical advice from Olivia, Kathy tagging along, and the occasional plot from Silvia. Gil tended to get into fights with the pages that were truly nasty, whereas Rob avoided them altogether.

Tina tended to avoid them too, really. She'd even tried to make friends with a few of the pages, and she rather liked the more liberal ones.

_As long as we don't target Richard of Masbolle with anything nasty, _she wrote back. Richy was a friend of hers, who on occasion would do something silly like leave a splotch of mud on someone's chair, but it was without malice. He didn't deserve the brunt of whatever the other cadets were planning—and if Dan wanted her involved, it had to be something big. Dan nodded at her with a cheerful grin.

"—you two done?" Captain Jones asked with good humor. Tina felt herself flush, embarrassed at being caught.

"Yep," Dan said cheekily. Kathy giggled, and Captain Harkness rolled his eyes.

"One of these days, Markam," he threatened. "One of these days."

"I'm worse!" piped Liam, and Tina giggled.

"Don't get me started," groaned Captain Jones. "I'm _still_ cleaning flour out of the hangar."

Liam grinned. He was a small boy, thin and lean and sort of awkward looking, really, with a mop of dark curly hair on his head. He had a knack with explosives, though, and a mind for trouble and everyone liked him. He didn't have Rob's handsome face, but Tina rather thought there was something compelling about Liam.

"That was a brilliant one, though, you had to admit," the class clown said brazenly. "And it even relates to rotational velocity! Right, Captain Harkness? The spinning fan—"

"—which blew flour everywhere, yes it does," Captain Harkness completed, tossing an exasperated Captain Jones an amused grin. "What is it with you and flour, anyway, Whitehorn? Every prank you pull involves flour."

"It's so _versatile,_" Liam said with relish, and Tina laughed.

She loved her little family, she thought with fierce pride as Captain Jones rolled his eyes expressively. Never mind that some of the pages were her friends – no one had the right to call her Captains names, or persecute them in court. She caught Dan's eye and nodded, slowly. He smirked and winked and nodded across the room; Olive threw her a grin.

"We protect our own," the noble girl mouthed. It was one of the mottos of the air force.

"Always," Tina whispered under her breath. On her other side, Kathy Merensdatter smiled with unexpected fierceness.

This prank was going to be a big one.

.

* * *

.

"I," Captain Jones said furiously, covered from head to foot in flour, "am going to kill the lot of you!"

The eight cadets stared at him, wide-eyed. He was-well, he looked rather like a ghost, or a snowman. Or like he'd fallen into a barrel of flour, which, according to Liam, he had.

"Well, at least we know it works," Liam muttered.

"How is it that you even have _time_ to put this together!" the Captain raged. He gestured expressively, and flour drifted from his clothes to the ground like a flurry of snow. "You have sixteen problems due for tomorrow! Have any of you even _started_?"

"Um, yes, Captain," Rob of High Peak volunteered. Silvia refrained from rolling her eyes. Honestly, her friend sometimes needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut! She was very fond of Rob, even if he was a little awkward, but the poor boy would never fit in if he kept on acting like this. Everyone would think he was a goody-two-shoes for that comment. Well, he was a goody-two-shoes, but he was also a sweetheart, and some of the others would never see it.

"You don't count, Rob," Captain Ianto sighed. "Go on, you can leave. At least one of you is smart enough not to get involved!" he glared at the rest of them.

But that's not fair, Silvia thought indignantly. Rob had helped Liam design it! Putting the trigger on that particular door was _Rob's_ idea! She opened her mouth to say something, but Olive elbowed her.

She winked, and Silvia's eyes widened. This was part of the plan. How was this part of the plan? Why would they ever prank Captain Jones, and how did she miss that memo? She glanced at Dan, who had plotted the whole thing out. What reason could there possibly-?

And then she got it. Rob was out. Robert of High Peak, the golden child who followed all the rules, who would never prank anyone ever, was out. Captain Jones was yelling at all the rest of the cadets. It was the perfect alibi. They'd never be able to pin it on the air force, since Captain Jack only ever yelled, and didn't act on his anger. He'd never pull a prank; that was just silly. And Rob wouldn't, either.

She wanted to cheer. Dan was _brilliant!_

They got a tongue-lashing to end all tongue-lashings—when he was angry, Captain Jones was truly terrifying— but it was worth it. It was _so _worth it. Captain Jones, sprinkling flour every time he moved, assigned them more work than was humanly possible, but Silvia only grinned. By the time he let them out of the hangar, Rob was leaning on the threshold of the door, a look of polite sympathy on his face.

"Bastard," Gil growled as they left the room. Silvia slowed to listen to the exchange.

"It's not my fault you're all unsubtle," Rob drawled.

"And you're subtle, are you?" Gil snarked.

"Absolutely," Rob said mildly. Tina, standing next to Olive, smirked.

This was going to be brilliant.

Captain Harkness found them as they trooped back into the barracks, and he took one look at Captain Jones and burst out laughing. Captain Jones glared.

"Oh, poor Ianto!" Captain Jack hooted. "Liam, seriously, if you have a signature, people can identify you," he added, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"It's better that way," Liam replied serenely. Captain Jones turned his glare from Captain Jack and to Liam, then back to Captain Harkness.

"I hate you," he told Captain Harkness dryly, but Jack just kept on laughing. He swooped over to Captain Jones, cupped his flour-covered chin and kissed him, right there in front of the cadets. Liam made a retching noise and everyone eww'd them cheerfully, but Jack only turned around and stuck out his tongue.

"Hey, you cover him in flour and make him good enough to eat, s'not my fault I can't help myself. You're just lucky it's not syrup," Captain Jack scolded and Captain Ianto, to Silvia's intense amusement, turned bright pink.

"Jack!" he hissed in his _don't scar the children _voice.

Dan was just opening his mouth to say something, when a sound of pure, unadulterated outrage wailed from the direction of the page's wing. Kathy caught Silvia's eye and they both contained giggles of sheer joy.

It had worked.

Captain Harkness and Captain Jones looked at each other. "That didn't sound good," Captain Jack said, a weird gleam in his eye.

Captain Ianto sighed and looked at the cadets. "What have you done _now_, Liam?" he asked as if impossibly tired.

"Nothing," Liam replied, feigning confusion so well that Silvia almost ruined it by laughing. "I was in the hangar, sir."

Captain Harkness snorted and opened his mouth to say something when, without warning, the door to the Cadet's barracks slammed open. Silvia jumped, and she whirled with everyone else.

Jack moved, apparently on instinct. He'd shoved his way past Ianto and to the door, standing defensively in front of the cadets and the other captain. Silvia didn't smile, but she wanted to. Captain Jack was over-protective, and it always warmed her heart.

The door had slammed against the wall and it was starting to ricochet. It creaked as it slowly swung back to close, but the man in the doorway slammed a violent hand against it, pushing it back to the wall furiously.

Justin of Nond, the father of page Victor of Nond, was standing in the threshold of the doorway covered in something thick and pink and goopy. Mithros only knew what it was, Silvia thought gleefully, or where Liam had found it. It was certainly not flour.

"HOW DARE YOU!" he bellowed, advancing furiously on Captain Harkness. "HOW _DARE _YOU!"

"Oi!" Captain Harkness snapped. When Sir Justin of Nond stepped forward, all aggression and rage, Captain Harkness stood his ground, muscles tensing and hackles rising. "What gives you the right to go storming into our barracks?"

"Filthy—I'll sue you for this, don't think I won't," seethed the pink-stained noble, "My son's rooms are ruined! His friends' rooms are ruined! I'll have every last one of you sent back to the filth holes you came from!" He prodded Captain Jack's chest with a goopy finger.

Jack raised his eyebrow and disdainfully picked the glob of whatever-it-was off of his coat.

"In case it's escaped your notice, Baron, I was pranked as well," Captain Ianto growled, striding forward to stand beside Captain Jack. As he moved, flour floated off and dusted the floor in his wake. "Flour is his signature," he gestured to Liam, "and he's the prankster of the bunch. I had all of them in the hanger for a half hour; none of them could have done this."

Sir Justin of Nond turned purple underneath the pink glop. "You don't need to brag to me about your fucking perverted—"

Captain Jones went white with rage.

"_Enough _with the sex already," Jack snarled, low and furious and for a moment he was truly menacing. "Honestly, you people think of nothing else, and coming from me that's saying something. This wasn't us, weren't you listening? Our kid always uses flour!" he jerked his thumb at Liam.

"I'll report you, don't think I won't!" spat Nond, before spinning on his heel and stalking away, squelching as he walked. Silvia smirked - the noble backed down in the face of her Captains. And damn right he should - they were scary when they were angry.

"Yeah, you do that," hissed Jack. He reached out and touched Ianto's arm. The menace drained out of him, and he was all solicitude. "You okay?" he asked softly.

Captain Jones' muscles relaxed visibly when he touched him. "Fine," he said tersely.

There was a long silence. Silvia bit her lip, feeling a little guilty that Sir Justin of Nond had upset Captain Jones. That - that - well, Gil had the right word. That bastard! That was why they'd pranked him and his idiot son in the first place, Silvia thought, suddenly seething. He'd upset her Captains, both of them, and that was not okay on so many levels. Silvia looked at the floor.

"Whitehorn," Captain Ianto's voice growled. Silvia looked up.

Liam shrugged, the picture of innocence. "Captain Harkness said it himself, sir," he replied simply. "I always use flour." Damn, but he was a good liar, Silvia thought. Didn't he feel bad that Nond had been so cruel?

"Besides," Olivia added, apparently not to be outdone. "We were all in the hangar, with you."

"Except for Rob," Captain Jones said slowly.

"—But I was with you," Rob replied with a shrug, gesturing to Captain Harkness. Jack nodded and a weird, fierce smile suddenly curled his lips.

Wait, Silvia thought. Hold on. Why did he look like a cat that just ate a canary?

"Oh, you are _kidding,_" Ianto gaped, staring at Captain Harkness. Dan spluttered.

"That—that was so not part of the plan, Rob!" he cried, breaking secrecy in shock. Liam, Silvia, Olive and Tina groaned, and Kathy smacked the back of his head.

"You idiot," Gil muttered to Dan.

"Captain Harkness found out," Rob grinned, bright and mischievous, and Silvia was suddenly struck with how endearing that looked. Good old Rob, so shy, but when you got right down to it he was a sweetheart, really, and loyal to the bone. "Where do you think I got the pink dye?"

"I was wondering why we were low on red ink," Captain Jones muttered, and Jack laughed brightly. He slung an arm around Ianto's floury shoulder.

"Did you see his face?" he asked, grinning. "_And _I got to call him out on being a complete bastard without having to deal with his slapping your ass with a glove." The glove, Silvia knew, was a symbol of a challenge; knights used a riding glove to challenge each other to duels.

"You would be concerned about my arse," muttered Captain Jones. His lips twitched, though, and Silvia felt herself start to beam in response. He was amused. Silvia caught Gil's eye, and they both shared a delighted grin. "What the hell was that stuff?" Captain Jones asked.

"Oh, it was flour," Liam replied cheerfully. "It's flour and water, so it's goopy. _And_ it'll harden. Told you flour was versatile!"

"Every artist's gotta sign his work. Right, Liam?" Captain Harkness said. He didn't seem to notice the flour sprinkling from Ianto's ruined clothes onto his much loved coat.

"Right!" Liam piped, and Captain Jones groaned and rolled his eyes.

"The lot of you, honestly," he chuckled, and Silvia finally laughed.


	39. From the Heart

**Teaching from the Heart  
(not the book)**

Liam was Jack's and Silvia and Gil needed them both, but Kathy was always Ianto's.

The first time the quiet girl came to him after class, she was one of twenty students and holding a talisman in her left hand. It was small and circular, and she flipped it over and over in her palm anxiously. "Captain Jones?" she asked shyly. Ianto knew all their names at this point – he was good with names – but he only knew a few personally. Kathy was not one of them.

"Merensdatter, right?" he replied with a smile. He knew the answer, of course, but he still sometimes felt odd addressing the cadets by their first names. Jack did it all the time, but Ianto just couldn't bring himself to start.

"Yes sir," she murmured, still flipping the talisman in her hand. Over and over and over it went. She was casting a very small mesmerizing spell on it, but Ianto recognized the trick and also recognized that she wasn't doing it intentionally; it looked like a nervous habit, so he ignored it. "I, uh, I have a question about the vector problem. Sir."

"Alright," Ianto said, eyes on her face and not the talisman. "What is it?"

"Well, um, Dan said the answer was thirty two, but I don't believe him because that just doesn't make sense—" She babbled for a moment, biting her lip nervously before Ianto interrupted, passing her a piece of chalk.

"Here, draw it. I can't remember the specifics."

She stared at the chalk in her hand like it was an alien. The kind with tentacles. Ianto resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Go on," he urged gently and she nodded, eyes skittering shyly away from his face.

Her handwriting was tiny, but Ianto managed to correct her arithmetic in a few places, before sending her on her way. Jack, who had started erasing the other side of the board, winked at him when the door closed.

"You've got an admirer," he said dryly. Ianto snorted and picked up the other eraser to clear Kathy's work.

"No," he said with a smirk. "You're just intimidating."

Jack spluttered indignantly.

The second time Kathy Merensdatter sought him for help, she didn't really come to him. Ianto found her crying in the shadow of the first few steps of Balor's Needle, the highest point in the castle. Her tears were quiet, heartbroken ones of real, long-term distress.

He'd been strolling the grounds that day, enjoying the spring air. Rikash was flying somewhere, wings spread wide to glide high in the sky, and that always made Ianto restless. He could almost, but not quite, feel the stretch of muscles and the feel of the wind over steel feathers.

He was itchy and irritable, and rather than grading students' work too harshly, or picking a fight with Jack for the sake of it, he'd decided to walk – of course, he would find one of his students crying, when all he wanted was to be alone.

Still. Obligation was obligation, and Jack always said that the air force protected its own.

"Kathy," Ianto murmured and strode over to her. She looked up at him with wide eyes and darted away, clearly intending to race up the Needle, up to the top of the pointed lookout tower. It was the tallest point in Corus, and there were over a thousand steps. Ianto was restless that day, though, and stretching his muscles was just what he was craving. A twelve year old, therefore, wasn't much of a match, despite the steepness of the Needle. "Kathy!"

He followed her up, feet pounding on the dank, winding staircase. It was not flying, but the burn in his muscles felt nice. He finally caught up to her when she ran out of breath, gasping as she leaned against the railing. "Kathy," Ianto panted, a little out of breath himself. "Kathy, what's—"

"Woman can't be pilots!" she blurted, whirling and looking at him with wide eyes. In the shadow of the stairwell, he could see that her straw colored hair was wild, escaping from her messy ponytail and her left eye—

Somewhere far away, Rikash turned on a wingtip, but the phantom feeling dissolved when Ianto realized that the shadows around Kathy's eye were not from the dark of the stairwell. The girl had a black eye, and all of his restlessness twisted into protective rage at the sight of it.

"Who's been beating you?" Ianto demanded, his voice to dropping an octave in fury. He gestured; nearby, one of the torches in a sconce on the wall flared to life with blue fire, and he could see the bruise clearly. The girl shielded her eyes from the sudden light and sniffled.

"N-no one," she managed, lowering her arm after a moment and casting her eyes downward as though ashamed. "I—I—I fell down the stairs?" It was a question.

Ianto was no fool. He'd been friends with Kel long enough to know that statement. That was what the pages said, when people asked them about hazing. This was something he was going to nip in the bud – the academy was too young to have hazing.

"Listen to me," he told her softly, taking her arm and gently making her sit on the stair above him. He sat as well, slightly below her so they were almost eye level. She was a very small girl, he thought. Had she been eating enough? "You aren't a page. Those rules don't apply. I am not your knight master, and I can fix it, if you're being bullied."

She swallowed, looking on the verge of tears. "Woman can't be pilots," she whispered to the stair.

Damn Tortall and its damned, old-fashioned culture of swooning court ladies. That was the most ridiculous thing Ianto had ever heard. "Of course they can," Ianto scoffed. "As of right now, the only two pilots are Jack and I."

"You're both men," she whispered.

"There's two of us. A majority isn't that difficult," Ianto replied dryly, and Kathy gave a damp giggle. He touched her chin, making her look at him. She cringed and it was telling. He removed his hand immediately, not liking her fear. "Why don't you think you can do it? I've seen your marks. You've got some of the best in your class."

She sniffled. "M-my Da sent me a letter," she whispered. "He said women can't do it, or at least commoners can't do it, and the sooner I learned the better. And—and—" her voice wobbled. "And s-someone stole my mother's pendant!" Great tears welled up. The pendant—the talisman she'd been fiddling with, Ianto remembered it. A nervous habit, he had thought. He'd been right.

"We'll get it back," he promised quietly, fiercely, and Kathy wiped her eyes. "Understand? I can talk to Daine—the wildmage? She'll have every cat and dog and mouse looking for it."

Kathy stared at him, eyes going wide. "No, no, Captain, don't ask her, that's—she's unnatural, a witch she is, Gift's bad enough—"

He spared an indigent thought on Daine's behalf. "You're Gifted," Ianto reminded Kathy quietly. He held out a hand and summoned the fire; it lit his palm in a gentle blue light. "So am I."

The girl swallowed, watching the blue glow. "M'Da says it ain't right," she whispered. "He wants to marry me off. We need the money."

"You tell your Da," Ianto said firmly, urging her to stand up so they could walk back down the stairs, "That if you make it as a pilot, you will never be wanting for money. The pay is remarkably good, almost better than a knight's, and they're nobles."

"Really?" she asked, looking up at him hopefully.

"Yep. Mind you, the knights say they don't get paid enough, and with this workload I don't think I do either—" He smiled to let her know he was joking. "But it'll beat a marriage of convenience, yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah." Ianto blinked at her, pausing. Tortallans generally said 'yes,' rather than 'yeah' the way he and Jack did. It was odd to see the cadet picking up his Earth idioms, but then again, he supposed that he _was_ her teacher.

Kathy paused and eyed him uneasily. She pulled her right arm across her stomach and grasped her left bicep, an uncertain posture. "Sir?" she asked tentatively.

He smiled at her. "Nothing, just had a random thought. Come on." He gestured and she followed him, biting her lip.

Eventually, they got to the bottom of the Needle and he walked her back to the barracks. The walk was mostly in silence, as Kathy was rather shy, and Ianto was not particularly good at small talk. Still, the silence was not exactly strained, and she smiled when he held the door for her.

Two days later, Daine came to Ianto holding a small mouse in her palm. She reported that Nathen Connily, one of the twenty cadets, stole Kathy's pendent. Ianto confronted the boy immediately, and with Jack standing behind him, looming and intimidating, the boy broke and admitted to his crime. Ianto had the talisman back in Kathy's grateful hands within the hour, and by evening the thief was expelled and packing, as he'd stolen valuables from others, too. Ianto would bet money that that boy had blackened her eye, as well. He was glad to see him go.

The next afternoon after class, Kathy had more questions, and this time she took her little, odd friend Dan to see Ianto, too. Her bright blue eyes shone, and Ianto could not help but smile.


	40. A Moment in Class

Hello, all!

Sorry for the long, long wait - I'm poking away at the Next Big Thing that's going to happen in this universe - namely, what happens after Roald, Jonathan's son, takes the throne. I've also started a story about Kitten and Jack's adventures after Tortall. So I'm still alive! Never fear. I might post a few stories that take place before the cadets; I feel like a lot of these don't involve Our Tortallan Friends as much as they should - it's mostly Jack and Ianto and a whole cast of newbies. Does anyone have an opinion?

At any rate, here's a short one about Dan and Kitten being absurd.

* * *

**A Moment in Class**

"So pi, which is not as delicious as pie, but far more useful, can be used to—hello," Captain Harkness interrupted his own lecture. A blue and white blue raced into the room, and one of the girls in the front shrieked. Dan ignored her.

His notes, on fresh parchment that the Captains acquired Mithros knows where, were pretty consistent. Circles and points and intersecting lines but there was something missing about the arc—

"SQUIRP!"

"Kitten!"

There was pressure on his leg, and Dan jerked from his contemplation of a sixty degree angle. He looked down. There was a blue dragon with silver claws on his thigh looking up at him. He recognized her immediately, of course: everyone knew about the wildmage's pet dragon. She was rather lovely, really, with a serpentine nose and pearly blue scales. Slit-pupiled eyes regarded him pleadingly. Well then, Dan thought, looking down. The cadet sitting next to him – a fellow by the name of Joseph of Tirragan, who was a bit of a tosser, really — hissed something uncomplimentary. Captain Jones was hurrying down the aisle, scolding.

"Skysong, what have I told you about interrupting—" the Captain was saying. Dan paid him no mind, feeling a little enchanted as he looked into the eyes of the dragon.

"Well, aren't you beautiful," Dan crooned. She trilled and squeaked at him. He reached down to pat her head, which was surprisingly soft and warm, for something that looked so reptilian. "Do _you_ know how to solve for the length of the arc?" he asked the dragon.

Behind him, Kathy Merensdatter, whom he was convinced was the most beautiful girl in the whole world, giggled softly. "Why would a dragon know?" she asked quietly.

Captain Jones swooped down as though from nowhere and grabbed the creature by the middle. It shrieked and kicked in protest as he straightened, hoisting her up with him. "She wouldn't," he said firmly. "And since she is not a cadet, she shouldn't be here, isn't that right, Skysong?" The dragon shrilled and struggled. Most of the cadets watched with wide, frightened eyes.

Dan cocked his head at Captain Jones. "She's doing no harm here, Captain," he said softly.

Captain Jones blinked down at Dan. "You're not afraid of her?" he asked. The dragon released an ear-piercing shriek. Dan shrugged.

"Why should I be? She's too little to sink ships and set castles ablaze. Besides, I imagine that a dragon raised amongst people would be quite the asset, Captain." Dan said as soon as the dragon quieted. "Think of how easy it would be to cook steak."

The dragon stopped struggling and looked at his quizzically. "Steak?" Captain Jones asked. The bemused look on his face was mirrored rather comically by the dragon. What a pair, Dan thought delightedly.

"Steak," he repeated derisively.

"What about steak?" Captain Harkness asked, coming over. Behind him, Dan was aware of Kathy sinking shyly in her seat. The class, almost as one, had fixed eyes upon Dan, the Captains, and the dragon.

"Dragon fire to cook it," Dan told the other Captain confidently, used to being the center of attention by a childhood on stages. He liked Captain Harkness. He followed Dan's rambles and played his word games.

"… and regular fire doesn't work?" Captain Jones asked, still looking perplexed. He glanced from Dan to Captain Harkness, as though he expected that he was missing a key point. The dragon was watching Dan quizzically from Captain Jones' arms.

"Dragon fire's always better, Captain Jones," Dan said solemnly. He wondered idly how far he could take Captain Jones on this little story. Maybe he could convince him the dragon's fire held the answer to all secrets. Dan once convinced his uncle to eat Hurrock dung, after all.

"Obviously," muttered Captain Jones. Captain Harkness snickered.

"Ah, Ianto, it's Dan-logic," Captain Harkness grinned with a wink in Dan's direction. "It always works but it takes a roundabout way to get there, huh, Dan?"

"The scenic route's better anyway," Dan agreed cheerfully. Ah, damn – no playing with Captain Jones allowed, apparently. It was almost endearing, how Captain Harkness was so protective, even from something as harmless as a game. Honestly, how it had escaped most of the court's notice that the two were involved with beyond Dan. "Can the dragon stay?"

"Only if she's not distracting," Captain Harkness said, looking at the dragon in Captain Jones' arms sternly. She chirped and squeaked and shook her head.

"We might need steak," Captain Jones muttered dryly as he let the dragon down, and Dan almost laughed at the sarcasm. Ah, no—Captain Jones was too smart to fall for such a game, after all. How Dan relished the air force! "No distractions, mind," Captain Jones said to the creature. "If you're distracting, I'm going to put you in a—a time-out." The last was wry, with Captain Jones' unique humor.

The dragon squeaked up at Dan, and trotted to the other side of the room, clearly bored. Captain Jones rolled his eyes and strode to the front of the class.

"Right," Captain Harkness said. "Where was I?" he looked around the class as though expecting an answer, although he got none. "The radius of a circle—"

Dan slid his eyes sideways. Robert of High Peak had his eyes fixed on the dragon, and when she approached him, he slipped her something that looked like sugar.

Dan smirked and drew a little _x _in his notes, marking the radius of the circle. This class was going to get very amusing very quickly.


	41. Nightmares

Hello again, all! Behold, I'm STILL alive….

I've been working on this next arc, which involves the darker side of a monarchy, and what happens during Roald's reign. Itty bitty teaser: it involves Gwen. And the cadets, who later become the Eight of the Air Force. It's rather long, and it might even just make it up as a story of its own… if I can get it to work. I might do a few shorts here for continuity, and then post another story that stands on its own but fills the gaps. Anyway, that's where I've been. I'm about halfway through with it. Eek! Anyway, there are still a few bits and pieces to establish before the crap hits the fan. So here's a bit of fluff and hurt/comfort with a point – let's face it, I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort. But the point is this: Jack is much, much better than he was in Guardian… but some things linger.

Also: the Hag likes Ianto, now. I've written a silly little story establishing this, and you'll be seeing it eventually.

* * *

**Nightmares**

**.  
**

"Oh, I don't think so, dearie," Ianto dreamed that the Graveyard Hag snickered, "You might want to watch your mouth. You're getting _cocky._" Her words were laced with innuendo.

"Sleeping with Jack, I think I would," Ianto replied dryly, and his patron cackled.

The Graveyard Hag was not a goddess of dreams, so she shouldn't, by rights, be able to stride through them. However, she was Ianto's patron, unfortunately, and that meant that he was stuck with her. Winning her favor had been no easy task – it had consisted of building a shrine in his closet and bringing daily libations and incense and flowers when he could get them – but he had done it. As it turned out, she tended to treat him as a favored pet, now. Still, he supposed it was better to be a favored pet than a wayward pain in the ass.

"Oh, you," she giggled like a schoolgirl, which was disturbing on an old, one-eyed lady with a cane. "My good boy." She patted his head condescendingly. Ianto scowled and made to reply when suddenly things shifted, they way they do in a dream about to end.

The Hag snorted. "Your lad's waking," she said dryly. "Gimme a show, would you, Ianto dearie?" she winked lasciviously and when she vanished, she took the dream with her.

Ianto jolted awake and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "I find that really disturbing, you know," he whispered grumpily to the Hag aloud. "And I feel a little violated," he added, before rolling over.

His bed was big and goose-feather down, and really the most comfortable thing he'd ever owned. The cotton comforter – mage-spun and soft as anything, with more goose-down inside – brushed against his skin as he turned sleepily. The Hag had said Jack was waking, after all. He reached out.

The skin he touched was tense and sweaty, and twitched away from Ianto's grasping fingers. Blinking sleepily in the darkened bedroom, Ianto sat up.

"Jack?" he whispered, confused.

Jack was curled in a fetal position, a little farther down the bed. He trembled from head to foot and as Ianto leaned over in concern, he twisted.

"_No!_" he begged. "No—please, please—don't make me, not again!"

A nightmare. Ianto sighed. Carefully, as he knew Jack was prone to thrash if startled, he tugged at the blankets, leaned over and caressed a hunched shoulder. "Jack," he crooned. "Jack, you're dreaming. Wake up, Jack."

Jack sobbed. "They'll die," he whimpered. "Please. I can't—"

"You don't have to," Ianto assured him. He touched Jack's cheek, wiped at tears with the back of his index finger. "You're alright, Jack. Come on, now. It's Ianto—wake up." He leaned closer.

"_IANTO!_" He'd leaned too close. Jack sat bolt upright, striking out with his left arm and catching Ianto across the face. Yelping, Ianto fell back across the bed.

"Ow," he muttered. His cheek stung a little, and across his bond with Rikash, there was a flash of orange; answering pain, and irritation. He had woken the Stormwing. Ianto didn't really know how to respond, so he thought _sorry _as loudly as he could, knowing that the words wouldn't translate, but the sheepishness would. He felt the scrape of Rikash's feet against the stone of his balcony as the Stormwing grumpily resettled. His brother reassured in a matter of moments, Ianto glanced back over to Jack.

Jack was looking around the darkened room wildly, his heavy panting loud in the dark, quiet room. There was a half moon that night, so blue shadows painted the floor by the window, letting Ianto see Jack's silhouette dimly as he shifted. "Ianto?" he asked breathlessly.

"You hit me," Ianto said, some of Rikash's indignation leaking through. Jack's breath hitched.

He shuffled down to Ianto and curled up around him, all warm from sleep, but shaking and sweating and breathing heavily, and not in a fun way. "I'm sorry," he muttered unsteadily.

The irritation melted in the warmth of his body, the apology in his tone. Ianto turned and cupped his cheek. "It's alright. The Hag sends her regards." He quirked a wry smile and Jack barked a laugh.

"Glad I woke you up out of that one, at least," he replied with shaky humor. He pressed close, tucking his head under Ianto's chin, clearly wanting comfort.

Ianto sighed and let him. He rested a palm between Jack's shoulders. "Nightmare?" he asked the obvious after a moment. If prompted directly about the content of the dream, Jack would change the subject and hide on instinct. He was so used to keeping secrets and hiding weaknesses that he did it without thinking, even here in the safest of places. Nevertheless, if Ianto played his cards right, Jack would relax without the defensive response.

Jack nodded softly against Ianto's neck and said nothing. Ianto hummed lightly in acknowledgment and stroked a finger carefully up and down Jack's spine. Jack sighed, warm breath on Ianto's neck.

"Did I say anything?" Jack whispered after a moment. Standard question, really. Ianto shrugged.

"Nothing of consequence," he assured honestly. "You didn't want to do something."

Ianto felt Jack swallow against his skin. There was a brief moment of silence, but Ianto didn't press. If Jack wanted to talk, he would talk. If not, Ianto was content to drift back to sleep. "The cadets," Jack whispered at last. Ianto's drooping eyes opened again. Of course.

"The cadets," he echoed ruefully, voice hushed. Jack periodically had nightmares that something awful would happen to his beloved cadets. He had a recurring one that ended in their execution, because Liam had pulled a prank and released something awful by accident. There was another about just the girls, something about an alien that would eat the world if it didn't have them. A few weeks ago there had been one about the penal mining colony from which Gil had fled. Jack was often fuzzy on the details, but Ianto understood the point. Every dream had something in common: Jack had to make a choice, and the right answer was not often in favor of the children.

Jack shivered. Ianto felt lashes brush his neck as Jack closed his eyes. "The Doctor wanted me to choose."

Ianto hummed again, looking down at the soft dark hair, still tracing Jack's spine.

"Them or Steven," Jack said, so quietly that Ianto almost didn't hear him. "Or—or them or Tortall, them or Earth, or Boshane or something. Something important that needed saving."

Ianto sighed. He pressed a kiss to the top of Jack's head. "Cruel choices," was all he said, voice very quiet.

Jack smiled against his neck. "Wise Ianto," he murmured. "You know, most people would say, 'it's just a dream, Jack.'"

"It's not, though, is it?" Ianto replied ruefully, still caressing Jack's back. "You're not the only one with nightmares. I get them, too, and hearing 'just a dream' gets tiresome. You always make the right choice, Jack. I trust you to do that. But this isn't Torchwood. You won't have to, not here." He rubbed gently at a tight muscle.

"How do you know?" Jack asked, voice small. Ianto swallowed. Jack, old, immortal Jack, sounded like a lost little boy. It always caught Ianto off guard when Jack let himself be vulnerable.

"It's bloody Tortall, isn't it?" Ianto asked wryly, intentionally lightening the tone, unsure as always of what to do with a frightened Jack, even after fifteen years. "They've got gods here to take care of that."

"Are saying that I did the work of the gods back at home, Ianto Jones?" Jack flirted, clearly grasping onto the subject change. Better, Ianto thought with relief. This he knew how to do.

He looked down at Jack and arched a delicate eyebrow. "Well," he drawled. "I wouldn't call you Zeus," he drawled.

"Not the kind of thing you can shout in bed, 'Zeus,'" Jack grinned. "But for a nickname, not bad…" He sat up and leaned down for a kiss.

"Mmm. More like Hephaestus anyway," Ianto sighed into his mouth. Internally, he smirked. Three, two, one…

Jack pulled away. "Hold on, wasn't he the ugly one?"

Ianto looked politely confused. "I have no idea what you mean," he said innocently. Jack was gorgeous, of course, but sometimes his inflated ego needed a pin.

Jack growled and tackled him. Ianto laughed brightly, and the Hag got her show after all.


	42. The Beginning

**The Beginning**

When Tina closed her eyes that night, her mind had been awhirl with thoughts. Silly thoughts, because Tina was often silly: that dress that the Lady of Jesslaw had worn to the ball the other night, how lovely it was and how Tina wished she could afford such a thing; Sir Winston of Disart, how handsome he'd looked. Stray equations floated across her mind's eye, thoughts about her aerodyne, still in the making.

Tina had been a cadet for five years now, and they were starting to build their own aerodynes. She'd already thought of a name: hers would be called the Lady, because when Tina had been small she'd wanted to be a lady, only to be tossed out because she was a commoner. She'd joined the air force, to show them all what she could do.

So now she thought about the schematics of her dyne – a fighterdyne, like Captain Jack's. She wanted it to be agile, the way the Gwen Cooper wasn't, and she thought that maybe dropping things from the sky would be advantageous…

Her thoughts drained slowly into dreams, of wood-and-bronze flying machines with special flaps on the tail and equations of how it would work. She dreamed of the wind in her hair and her father's pride.

And then it went dark.

"Tina Miller," drawled a voice with the oddest accent.

She was standing in her memory of the port in Portsmouth Harbor, except the busy dock was dark and deserted. It extended far out into the sea in a collapsing walkway of wood, and the city at her back seemed like nothing more than a black, stone monolith. The lighting was odd, too, pooling in a strange circle around Tina.

"You sound almost similar to Captain Jones," she told the unknown voice idly, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her breeches.

"Do not," huffed the strange man, walking into the pool of light around Tina on the dock.

He was rather handsome, Tina thought critically, looking him up and down like Jack eying the new crop of court ladies each spring ball—in an odd sort of way. He had a wide mouth, dark hair and pale, pale skin. His coat was black leather, and he looked at her with sharp intelligence in his dark eyes. He was not at all familiar.

That this was a dream was obvious. Who the man actually was seemed a bit of a mystery. Tina was nothing if not practical. "Who are you?"

"Name's Owen Harper, love," replied the man. "I worked with Gwen Cooper and Tosh Sato, once upon a time." He quirked a wry smile. "I know you've heard of me."

If Tina had been Liam or Dan, she would have played that she was dim and had no clue who Owen was, just to watch him squirm. That was how it always was in the stories, but Tina just couldn't stop herself from gasping. She knew exactly who Owen Harper was, of course. Like the rest of the cadets, Jack and Ianto had raised her on stories of Torchwood. "No way," she breathed.

"Yep," said Owen Harper, looking a little smug.

"But—but—that's, that's so—Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith!" she squealed.

"Nah, this is Dark God and Dream God, actually," Owen drawled. "They've both favored me, see."

Tina decided not to ask. "It's an honor, sir," she said, curtsying politely. Owen Harper eyed her sharply.

"I see Ianto's trained you well," he sneered.

Tina knew all about Owen Harper and his nasty exterior. Supposedly, he was a sensitive soul, according to Jack, although Ianto swore up and down that he was a bastard through and through. "Yes he has, sir," she smiled at him with her best, Jack-inspired, toothy smile. "They both have."

To her surprise, Owen Harper snorted. "Oh, bloody hell," he said, but he sounded amused. "I can see that, yes. But I get the feeling that Jack would have my testicles if I try anything on you, huh?"

Tina fluttered her eyelashes. "Well, why would he know?"

"Point," Owen smirked. "But Tosh would, and that wouldn't end well. Listen, love, this isn't a social call."

Tina tilted her head. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"One of you. You just happen to be receptive." He leered a little. Tina smiled at his sweetly. This was sort of fun.

"Oh?" she flirted.

"Oh," Owen agreed. "I'm no fortune teller, but the dead can sort of sense… currents. Sort of thing. I can't tell Jack and Ianto, not personally. His Highness Gainel can't interfere with nobles or people of the court, anyway. It's punishment, you see." His dark eyes were level with Tina's, and suddenly all measure of flirting was gone. "But you're common blood, and just a cadet; I can talk to you. The tide's turning," he added ominously. "There's something… bad coming. Bad for Jack and Ianto. The Hub may be rubble and I may be dead and gone but we're still Torchwood."

"What sort of bad?" Tina asked, all business. "Can we help?"

"I'm asking you to help," Owen replied. He scowled. "Gainel wanted me to spout some rubbish about kings and sunsets in verse, but I'll be arsed if I can remember the whole thing. What you need to know, okay, is that things are going to go to shit when the next king takes the throne. And then you have to run. You need to tell Jack and Ianto to run, as far as they can. Hide up in the mountains; I don't care, but the tide is turning, and Court won't be safe anymore. "

Tina frowned. "What do you mean by not safe? Jack has been gathering allies here."

"I know. I know." Owen paced anxiously. "It won't matter. It's gonna get ugly anyway, and then you can't stay. You need to tell them to run. Ianto's life might depend on it." He paused to look her dead in the eye. "Okay?"

Tina nodded. "I'll remember," she said. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

Owen scowled. "Only if you want to hear about men twice lost and the sun falling over a fucking ocean," he sneered. "Prophesies, you know. They're vague."

Tina smiled faintly. "I think that's the point. Thank you, um, Doctor Harper."

"Yeah, you're welcome," Owen huffed with a small nod that looked almost pleased. "Tell Harkness and the tea boy I say hi," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Tina giggled a little at such a description of Captain Jones, who to her mind, at least, towered like royalty. "Yes, sir."

Owen Harper regarded Tina for a long moment, head canted to one side. "Right, then," he said after an awkward silence. "That's that. Time you woke up, I think."

The world faded to black and Tina felt her bed come into focus around her.

"Tina!" Liam was hissing. "Tina!"

"What?" Tina muttered irritably, blinking sleep out of her eyes. She rolled over.

Liam was standing on the first step to the ladder to her bunk bed with his hands on the top rung, peering at her with his dark eyes. There was, predictably, flour in his fluffy hair.

"Everything's in place," he whispered. "In an hour, the pages are going to wake up. You want to go watch the devastation?"

Tina rubbed her eyes and looked at him, bemused. Right, her sleepy mind provided. Liam was running yet another prank. Tina had even been involved. It had to do with the pages' uniforms, all sent to the wash after the ball the other night. Liam had covered them in flour.

She smiled a little at her friend, and her dream faded from her mind. Here and now, there was a prank to be pulled. "Yeah, alright," she whispered back. "Let me get dressed?"

"Uh-huh," grinned the class clown, and he hopped off her ladder. "Quick, though, or we'll miss it!"

As Tina tip-toed around the girls' barracks, trying not to wake Olive, Silvia and Kathy, she thought that she'd dreamed something last night. Something important. She paused at the door, holding her shoes.

Something about Torchwood?

"Tina!" Liam hissed from the other side of the door.

Whatever, she thought, and slipped her shoes on so she could run after him. It couldn't've been that important.

But somewhere deep in her subconscious, a little seed of doubt planted itself.

Something was coming.


End file.
